


Edge of Dawn

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Bridging Zones [1]
Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-22
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 121,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smoke and mirrors, lost hope and dreams. Some realms are meant to be saved, and others are meant to be destroyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape To The Mundane

It seemed to be perfect at first. The witch was gone and Azkadellia was back to herself. She wanted to be a sister to DG again, and she was nothing like the Sorceress she had been while possessed. DG had parents, real ones that couldn't have their memories erased and altered at a whim. They loved her and wanted the best for her, and didn't want to let her out of their sight now that she had only just returned to them. DG was a princess, an honest to goodness princess, with a kingdom that rejoiced at the news of her return to the OZ.

DG was the Crown Princess now. Azkadellia was older, but her possession left her reputation tainted beyond repair. The witch was gone, but she had left her mark on Azkadellia as surely as she had done to the OZ. The people didn't trust Azkadellia's judgment anymore, and she didn't trust it herself. DG could see it in her eyes, the haunted look when no one was looking directly at her. She could see the hesitation, the small flinches at unintended reminders of the fifteen years she had been possessed. Azkadellia was sorry, even if she hadn't been in control. She blamed herself for not being able to fend off the possession and not doing enough to lessen the witch's control of the OZ. It didn't matter that the damage wasn't her fault. She still felt it keenly, and wouldn't have wanted to rule the OZ even if the people wanted her to.

DG hadn't realized what being the Crown Princess meant. It didn't sink in right away, not even with people calling her Your Royal Highness. Glitch was still in the palace, but Raw left to be with his people and Cain went back to being a Tin Man. Tied into an exquisite and frilly dress, DG saw her reflection in the mirror. Her blank face stared back at her. The endless strangeness of the OZ had numbed her, and it had been easier to react without thinking about anything. Thinking too much made the oddness stand out in sharp relief, and it only hurt more to try to puzzle it out. Seeing her reflection now, however, brought it home.

DG wasn't some ordinary girl from Kansas. She wasn't simply a waitress attending community college and dreaming of traveling to a faraway place. She wasn't simply a girl gifted at drawing and fixing mechanical things for her Popsicle to keep the farm going.

She was a princess now. A Crown Princess. A Crown Princess in an ethereal silver gown of silk and lace and tulle swathed in diamonds and crystal. A Crown Princess next in line for the throne, whenever the Queen decided she wanted to step down from ruling. A Crown Princess with responsibility for a kingdom full of people she had never met, who would have to learn how things were run and who would have to soon marry to secure the line on the throne.

She wanted to throw up. Now. Damn the ball that would formally introduce her to the royalty and nobility of the OZ. Damn it all, she wanted _out,_ she wanted back to what was normal and sane. She needed to get back to Kansas, of all places, that same place she'd been mentally running from for years. She'd wanted to go somewhere exotic, somewhere new and exciting. DG hadn't meant a whole new dimension, some place where the rules she had grown up in didn't apply anymore.

Glitch knocked at the door to escort her to the main ballroom. Her default blank face saved her from explaining why she was hyperventilating. She flashed him a smile a thousand times more confident than she felt, and let him bring her to ballroom. Her panic was pushed down low, into an unsettling ball in the pit of her stomach. It was time to react again, to not think. It hurt if she started thinking, if she had to try to puzzle it out. She let the names and faces wash past her, not even trying to match them. It didn't matter which noble was which, how they knew the royal line or what they contributed to OZ politics. She was getting _out,_ however she could, as fast as she could. She had to get through the morass of humanity that was presented in front of her, smile and nod in all the right places. No one knew her here. No one knew that the panic kept rising the more they kept talking to her about how she was the light of the country, how important she was for its survival. She didn't want to contemplate OZ politics and policy. She didn't want to try to rebuild a land she didn't understand and didn't connect with.

Okay, that's not quite right. She could understand some parts. She could connect with some parts. But the familiarity was rapidly receding, and it was almost as if they were trying to make her believe her life in Kansas was a dream. It _wasn't,_ though. She had lived there, gone to school there, worked there, had dreams there. It was a real place, more real to her than the OZ. It was the fact that she was the Crown Princess that was surreal. Anything depending on her was surreal. All she was good for was fixing engines and serving dishes at a diner. She couldn't even finish her associate's degree, for Pete's sake! How the hell did they expect her to run a country?

Azkadellia brought her a cup of punch partway through the evening. "You're holding up pretty well," she said, voice low and pitched just for her to hear. "But you don't look so good."

"I'm going to be sick," DG muttered, gulping down the punch. Unfortunately, it wasn't spiked.

Azkadellia frowned in concern. "Should I get a healer, Deeg? Are you going to be all right?"

Immediately, the panic inside DG's chest flared. "No!" At Azkadellia's look of concern, DG pasted a smile on her face. "Az, it was just a figure of speech. It's all the flattery I'm sick of. I'm not used to this kind of thing, you know."

She softened her gaze and linked her arm through DG's. "You'll get used to it, Deeg. They love you, you know. They've missed you for all those annuals you were on the Other Side." _All they had was me,_ went unspoken, even though they both knew that it hadn't been Azkadellia's fault.

"Az, it's going to be all right. You can be the Crown Princess, not me."

Azkadellia gave DG a sad smile. "No, Deeg, I can't. Even if they would let me, I couldn't."

They didn't talk about what had happened before the eclipse. Most people referred to it obliquely, if ever. It was the _Lost Time,_ spoken of in hushed whispers as if the noise would bring the witch back. Azkadellia had nightmares she didn't discuss with anyone, least of all DG. The one time DG started to talk about Hank and Emma as Popsicle and Mom, then stopped herself, Azkadellia flinched. It had been a rather inspired bit of cruelty on the witch's part to wipe their memories, and Azkadellia still didn't forgive herself for it. Hank and Emma didn't know DG anymore, not the way they used to, and it was a casual kind of hurt. DG avoided them and any mention of Milltown. _Everything's better in Milltown,_ she thought dejectedly. _And I can't ever be there._

"Oh, chin up, sis," Azkadellia said, linking hands the way they used to do as children. "I'm all right. I'll be all right."

It was probably telling that DG didn't protest the lie. She felt guilty herself; if not for her hearing the witch, Azkadellia would have grown up with both parents and a sound mind. As it was, Azkadellia had horrible nightmares that left her screaming. DG could hear her through the walls, but everyone pretended that the princess was fine. She didn't have any traumatic memories. The witch was gone, no scars remained. The people needed their illusions at Azkadellia's cost, and she accepted it as her penance for inaction. DG had broached the subject once after the eclipse, and Azkadellia had gone stark white. Her usual grace faltered, and she stumbled over her words trying to assure DG that she would be all right, DG didn't have to worry about her anymore. But of course she did. Of course she did. DG was the one that was gone for so long, the one that had let the witch out of her prison and left Azkadellia to be possessed for fifteen annuals. DG had her little life elsewhere, pathetic though it was, and had been blissfully unaware of the dangers she had left in her wake. And DG was selfish enough not to care, not to be involved. These weren't her people. These weren't her friends. This had nothing to do with her, DG the waitress attending community college. That DG sketched and rode motorcycles too fast and repaired motors. That DG didn't know how to rule a kingdom. She didn't know protocol and royal... _stuff._ She didn't have magic. She didn't do much of anything. She was this blah kind of person, steeped in normalcy and all around lack of specialness.

"You're right," DG murmured. She gave Azkadellia a hug and a bright, false smile. "I'm worrying for nothing."

"It's new to you," Azkadellia said, shrugging slightly. "It'll come back to you, I know it."

_I was five when you killed me,_ DG didn't say. _There isn't much for me to remember._

But she remained silent, that false smile on her face that fooled everyone. They didn't know her. The only ones that knew her had been Mom and Popsicle, and they were gone forever. Glitch couldn't remember what she had been like on their adventure, not exactly, and he was too busy being one of the Queen's advisors again. Raw and Cain had both gone back to who they had been before the reign of terror had begun. Anyone that might have known her, might have kept her here, was gone.

DG didn't have any plan in mind, though she knew she had to leave. It wasn't until some random creepy noble tried to get too close that she started paying attention to her surroundings in the ball. "I understand a travel storm brought you here, Princess," the smarmy bastard was saying, his hand too high on her arm and too close to her silk-covered breast. "You must have been terrified. The Longcoats after you, no one to turn to... It must have been difficult. That wouldn't happen in my country."

DG glared at the bastard and all but yanked her arm away. "I was just fine. I faced those men and survived it. It's illegal to refer to them as Longcoats or to even talk about the Lost Time. You of all people know this."

He reacted as if slapped and stepped back. "My apologies, Princess..."

"Crown Princess," DG replied icily. She lifted her chin a notch and turned on her very expensive heel. Dear God, she had to get out of here _now._

But there it was. A travel storm. She had magic now. She had some kind of ability, right? She could probably open up a travel storm of her own, go back to where things made sense, go back to who she used to be. Azkadellia would have to get over her trauma, and everyone would have to help her do it, rather than pretending nothing was wrong. Sweeping it under the rug only made it worse. No one was fucking able to heal.

DG didn't know how to make a travel storm exactly; no one had wanted to discuss her travel from the Other Side to the OZ, and no one had wanted to discuss the escape the Queen had orchestrated fifteen annuals ago. She begged off further introductions, stating that she needed to get some air. Glitch nodded and let her go out on one of the verandas leading from the ballroom. She could see pretty far from the veranda, this land that was supposed to be hers. It almost broke her heart, but she couldn't stay.

The marble balustrade was cold and hard beneath her hand, and she held it in a vise grip. She needed to _go,_ and it needed to be _now,_ and she needed a travel storm small enough to pick her up and take her away without anyone else knowing.

The air around her grew cold and she shivered. A loose tendril of hair flitted across her face, and she brushed at it without thinking. Her palm flared to life, light glowing from beneath her skin. The gauzy overlay fluttered, and DG realized for the first time that there was wind swirling around her on the veranda. It was moving faster and faster, twisting itself into a tornado just small enough for her frame. It hovered just beyond the marble balustrade, cold beneath her hand.

DG didn't even think twice. She vaulted over the edge and into the heart of the travel storm.

***

"She was getting some air," Glitch said, looking about himself helplessly. The ball had wound to a close, and DG hadn't been around to wish the guests a good night. Ahamo and the Queen had done so, but the Queen was getting annoyed at DG's lack of responsibility. She was Crown Princess now, and she had duties to perform. The Queen had wanted to chastise DG and remind her of her duty, and that led to the discovery that she was missing.

"When was this?" the Queen asked, voice rising slightly.

"Earlier," Glitch replied apologetically. "I thought she was with you. She was talking with Azkadellia earlier..."

The Queen made her way toward Azkadellia, who was sitting alone near the orchestra. Few approached her during the ball, and fewer still remained by her side for long. Azkadellia was marked, and the bowed posture of her shoulders proved that she was not as unaffected as she tried to pretend to be. Her head snapped up as the Queen approached, her face blank. "Where is your sister?" the Queen asked. There was no edge to her voice, but Azkadellia had to steel herself to keep from flinching.

"I saw her before the dance with Lord Rustling. She was worried."

"About what? What worries could she possibly have now?"

Azkadellia shook her head slightly. "She doesn't think she fits in."

"But that's ridiculous," the Queen replied, nonplused. "She's the Princess. She has a place and a role and the people love her."

_They don't love you,_ Azkadellia heard. _They will never forgive you._ I _will never forgive you._

The Queen turned on her heel and left when Azkadellia didn't reply. She began to question her staff, and no one had seen her in recent hours. The last one to see her had been Glitch, apparently, and he had last seen her hours ago. Azkadellia was left to the shadows; no one asked her opinion about anything anymore, and it didn't matter what she thought about DG's disappearance. It didn't matter that she thought Raw or Cain should be brought in to help find DG. They had spent more time with her than anyone else in the palace but Glitch, and Glitch often forgot things. He loved the family to pieces, at risk to himself. It never occurred to him to try to piece himself back together, and it never occurred to anyone else to even ask him to do it. It would never occur to him to ask Azkadellia anything of importance. It was clear she wasn't welcome for any OZ planning committees anymore. She had been possessed by the witch for far too long, and the stain of it still covered her completely. She knew that DG still had nightmares herself, though they weren't anywhere near as horrid as her own. Azkadellia had done too many awful things to even hope for redemption, and knew that being tolerated was the best she could hope for.

_Maybe she had the right idea of it,_ Azkadellia thought morosely. As the evening wore on and no one could find DG, Azkadellia could feel her own spirits slip. She had tried her best to be happy for DG's sake. Her parents didn't seem to notice what she really felt, but DG did care. She faulted herself for what had happened, even after Azkadellia assured her that she had been a child and couldn't take full responsibility. Azkadellia had been older, and she had known better than to go into the cave in the first place. She should have tried harder to curb DG's adventuring spirit, should have tried to direct it elsewhere when she felt the cold chill of the witch's presence. Azkadellia hadn't really wanted to disappoint DG then and she sure didn't want to do it now. It was always so easy to say she was tagging along with DG when they were younger, but Azkadellia had wanted to explore Fenaqua and the Northern Island just as much as DG did. It wasn't a seemly thing for the Crown Princess to do, but if she was looking after DG, she could go just about anywhere.

_And look at where it got me,_ Azkadellia thought. _Ostracized and alone, no chance of ever being happy..._ She couldn't blame DG, not really. It had been her own fault for not watching out hard enough. She hadn't fought back hard enough. She had simply knelt there screaming, letting the demons inside. She let the witch overwhelm her. She let the witch take over her very soul and use her body to commit atrocities. Azkadellia could still taste DG's breath, innocent and sweet. She could taste every death on her tongue, feel their essences in the back of her mind. She could _feel_ them still, a deranged tickle she could never scratch to her satisfaction. She was haunted by them, the faint whispers that followed her every move. She could never get rid of them, never shed the guilt from them. She let the witch use her to kill, use her to torment and control and dominate. She was supposed to rule the lands with love, guiding them to a better future. Instead, everything became dark and twisted, and she nearly let the lands fall into permanent darkness. If it had, everything would have died and the witch would have been unstoppable. Everything she had ever loved about the OZ would rot and fall further into ruin than she had already let it.

_They don't need me anymore. They never wanted me before and they certainly don't need me now,_ she thought, looking at her reflection when alone in her room. She half expected the witch's deformed face to stare back at her, to bang on the other side of the glass and scream at her for her horrid betrayal. _I was with you the whole time!_ the witch often screeched. _Your sister left you to me, screaming for her mother. Your mother never loved you, not the way I do. Your parents don't understand. They don't know what it means to be alone the way you were alone. But I'm with you. I'm always with you, and I'll never leave you. We'll be together forever, and you'll never have to feel that kind of loneliness ever again. They'll never blame you for _her_ mistakes ever again._ It had been lulling, almost comforting, and now Azkadellia felt nothing but torturous guilt over ever believing the witch's lies. She had killed her sister and driven her family apart. She had destroyed the OZ's trust in the royal line and broken the sacred stewardship her family had over the lands of the OZ. She had singlehandedly destroyed everything, and she was lucky that no one had ordered her death. She had certainly killed more than her fair share during her reign of terror, even if she had been possessed. She could have done something to stop it, but she had believed in the witch after a time. It was the only voice she heard for years, and everyone else's voices had become twisted and dark.

Her reflection was sad and wan, hair falling down in loose ringlets. The skin of her chest was unmarred now, but she felt the burn of those tattoos still. She could feel the presence of those dark creatures in her dreams, her lost children, her dark darlings. They had loved her unconditionally, regardless of what face she wore. They had strove to make her happy, to please her and see her smile. She had cared deeply for them, and when they left her she had grieved in silence. No one else would have understood it, cradling their lives within her skin, feeling their pulses beat. It had been like stab wounds when they were killed, a part of her ripped to shreds and ground into dust. Azkadellia touched her chest, almost mourning the loss of those pulses. She was alone now, no witch in her mind and no lost creature-children on her chest or back. She was a single being again, and after fifteen annuals she couldn't take the silence.

There was a knock on the door, startling her. Azkadellia straightened, and wiped at her face hastily. She hadn't realized she was crying. She did it so often when alone, she didn't register the tears anymore.

Glitch looked apologetic. "The Queen wants to speak with you. I... I know she told me," he said after a moment, head cocked to the side. "I can't recall why."

"It's all right, Glitch," Azkadellia said, false smile painted across her features. "She'll tell me herself."

"Good luck," he chirped.

Azkadellia lofted an eyebrow at him in question. "Good luck?"

"Isn't that the thing to say?" he asked, eyes wide and innocent. "When you see the Queen, I mean? Isn't it proper?"

"I don't even know anymore," Azkadellia murmured, shaking her head.

Lavender eyes bored into Azkadellia as she strode into the throne room. "You said she was worried. That she didn't feel as though she fit in."

Azkadellia took in the Queen on the throne, the endless reams of marble all about. Ahamo was nowhere to be seen, and it was just Azkadellia and the Queen. In her former life, this scenario would have almost certainly meant that Azkadellia would have wanted to kill the poor fool standing in front of her.

"She was concerned," Azkadellia replied. She no longer felt comfortable tacking on "Mother" to any of her conversations with the Queen. The witch had made her taunt her mother too often in the past fifteen annuals, and she didn't even want the subtle reminder of her previous imprisonment of her mother.

"What else did she tell you?"

"She told me not to worry," Azkadellia said, shaking her head. "Maybe she lied to me. I certainly lied to her."

"What do you mean?"

"I told her I was fine. I said she didn't need to worry about me."

"Why would she...?" The Queen shook her head, voice trailing off. It didn't need to be asked. Of course DG would worry about Azkadellia. Of course Azkadellia would worry about DG. They knew what they had put each other through, and each carried the guilt of their actions and their inability to protect their sister.

Azkadellia remained silent. There was no point in answering the question, and there was no point in offering up an alternative explanation.

"There are ways to track her, aren't there? Ways you've used in the past?"

It was the first time the Queen had willingly referred to the Lost Time, and it was telling that it was only to help locate DG. The lost child, the daughter sent away to be saved, the daughter the Queen had given up her magic for. Azkadellia knew that she shouldn't feel resentful, but she couldn't help the stabbing pain that lanced through her heart.

"She may not want to be found," Azkadellia replied, unable to help herself.

"She is family. She is my daughter and your sister. She must be found." The Queen covered her face in her hands for a moment. "I can't lose her again, Azkadellia."

"The demons had helped me track," Azkadellia murmured, referring to her lost children by the term her mother preferred. "There was never a spell for it, not the way I claimed it to be."

Azkadellia never differentiated which actions were hers or the witch's. It didn't matter anyway.

The Queen was near tears. _"Please,_ Az. There has to be a way to find her."

"Her friends know her best, not me. You should ask them where she'd run to when nervous."

She finally seemed to _listen._ After a long moment, the Queen nodded. "You're right, Azkadellia. I'll call on them. I'll let you know what happens when I do."

And just like that, Azkadellia was dismissed. It was just another casual blow.

Azkadellia turned to leave the throne room, her back straight and tall. It didn't matter if everything hurt, if it felt like razorblades dragged across her skin. She would never show the pain she felt. She deserved it, after all.

The Queen's expression softened somewhat. "Azkadellia?"

Azkdellia froze in place but didn't turn. "Yes?"

_"Are_ you all right?"

_Too late to ask,_ Azkadellia thought acidly. She regretted the thought almost immediately. It wasn't her mother's fault. It was hers.

"Yes, of course," Azkadellia replied, voice steady. "I'll leave you to your plans."

"Azkadellia... I'm sorry."

Now she turned to face her mother. "Whatever for? You were her victim, too."

"Az..."

Not waiting another moment, Azkadellia gracefully fled the thone room.

The Queen had a new advisor now, though she didn't trust him nearly as much as she used to trust Ambrose... Glitch. He was Glitch now, and didn't have the same strategic sensiblities he used to. He did understand people better now, however. Or perhaps it was just that it was the only kind of wisdom he had left that he could access consistently. She turned to the new advisor and set her lips into a thin line. "Find Glitch for me. I need to speak with him immediately."

"Of course, my Queen," the advisor said with a bow.

Glitch returned with the nameless advisor, an absent smile on his face. It almost hurt to see it, as the Queen's memories of the old Ambrose had his expression as perpetually worried. This wasn't her Ambrose. This was someone completely new yet familiar at the same time.

"My Queen," he said cheerfully, bowing and nearly falling over. "I didn't think I would ever be an advisor again."

With a soft sigh, the Queen dismissed the adviser that had accompanied Glitch into the throne room. Glitch had served as one of her advisors ever since her return to the throne, but he never remembered it. The nameless advisor carried the lofty lead title, though the Queen didn't trust him as much as she had trusted Ambrose. He protested, but would not override his Queen's wishes. Once they were alone, the Queen turned to Glitch. "You've gotten to know my daughters fairly well, haven't you?"

"Well, Azkadellia the Sorceress." Glitch scratched his head for a moment, thoughtfully. "She isn't much of anything now, is she?" He looked up at the Queen with an expectant gaze. "She isn't much of anything now, is she?"

"Glitch," the Queen murmured, shaking her head.

"Hm? Oh. Oh! DG! Yes. Oh, yes. She was looking for her parents when she got here. Only... They were from Milltown. And not her parents. And Azkadellia erased their memories, so they're not even her parents anymore. I don't think she was especially happy about that."

The Queen felt a tightness in her chest. She had missed so much of DG's life in the effort to keep her safe, and she had given up the right to be called a parent. Still, she was DG's mother, and she wanted what was best. _What must she be feeling now? Everything she's ever known is gone..._

"Where would she go?"

"Who?"

"DG. Where would DG go if she was distressed?"

"She has friends, I think. I think she does." Glitch smiled at the Queen. "I'm one of them. We've all gone through a lot together, you know."

The Queen looked at Glitch thoughtfully. DG hadn't gone to Glitch with what was bothering her, but it didn't make his statement any less true. "Who else was with you? A Tin Man and a Reader, if I recall."

"Oh, yes. Raw and Cain. I think she liked Cain. Certainly enough to save him from the metal sarcophagus Azkadellia's men put him into." Glitch's face fell. "Oh. But it wasn't her, was it? I shouldn't say that anymore."

The tightness in the Queen's chest was threatening to snap her in two. No, they shouldn't say that anymore. No, it wasn't like that at all anymore. But they all avoided Azkadellia and treated her with fear and loathing. Her hand tightened around the Emerald of the Eclipse, which she was wearing around her neck. She hadn't been able to entrust it to anyone after the night of the eclipse. Even the Queen herself had been really unable to separate the witch from her daughter. She had spent too long bound up in a magical prison, left in darkness and cold and wet rain. The prison had kept her from going hungry or thirsty, and had taken care of other physical needs, but it had also kept her alone with her thoughts and despair. The witch in Azkadellia's body had known everything that Azkadellia had known, and twisted up all the fears and hopes into something dark and disgusting. Azkadellia was left with the fallout now that the witch was dead. Dorothy Gale had taken care of two of the OZ's witches, and her descendants had taken care of another. Still, the Queen feared that this peace was only temporary. DG was missing, and it was difficult to think that it was voluntary. Too much had happened recently for the Queen to think anything but the worst.

"Cain was tough, but I think that's a good thing," Glitch continued. "Tin Men need to be tough, right? That's how they find people and catch the ones that break the law."

_Find people._

The Queen looked up, startled. "Find people."

Glitch was caught mid-ramble. "But yes. That's what they do, isn't it?"

The Queen beamed at Glitch, suddenly relieved. "We need to find this Tin Man, then. He knew my daughter, so he should be able to find her, wherever she is."

"She has her magic, my Queen. That will keep her safe."

Her daughters were their own people, and she had no dominion over them any longer. She only had her memories of them as children, as innocents. Anything after that time, and she couldn't be sure of anything. But DG did apparently have some magic, even if it was wild and untutored. Azkadellia seemed almost afraid to use hers now. The Queen had used up her own magic to bring DG back to life, and she was left feeling odd and empty without it. What else did she have if she didn't have that magic touch that the people associated with the royal house? The public didn't know that her magic was gone, but she did. The House of Gale had ruled since time out of mind, and there had always been magic and justice. They seemed to go hand in hand.

The Queen watched Glitch leave the throne room with a troubled gaze. She needed DG now more than ever. She didn't trust herself any longer. She hadn't seen the changes in Azkadellia even when DG had warned her, and she had tried to placate Azkadellia as much as possible after she had sent DG away. She deserved to lose control of the kingdom, even if the people didn't think so. She hadn't been alert enough, hadn't been strong enough. She certainly didn't feel strong enough now.

Still, until DG was found, there was no one else to do the job. The Queen tried not to feel hopeless.

It wasn't working.

***  
***


	2. Gathering Clues

Wyatt Cain had fallen back into his old life as if he had never left. Oh, he had new men that he worked with regularly, and the neighborhoods have all changed. His son had entered the Academy to ultimately become a Tin Man himself, and Cain couldn't be more proud of his son. Until he could work with his son, Cain had found a handful of good men that he could trust with his life. Paul Della and Benji Callan were the two men he worked with most closely now. The three of them were tracking a thief that had moved through the richer neighborhoods of Central City, leaving behind a wake of victims tied up and left drenched in bathtubs. There was no real rhyme or reason to the homes that were broken into, no clear ties between any of the victims or even any of the items that were stolen. Cain knew that there was something the victims were leaving out, but there was nothing that they confessed to any of the team that helped to solve the mystery. It was bothering him, almost like a nagging feeling between his shoulder blades.

"We should head back," Callan said, shaking his head. He had shaggy black hair that was always cut oddly and light blue eyes that were startling once they were fixed on someone. He was tall, soft spoken and rail thin, which often led the denizens of Central City's underbelly to think that he was easy to push around. It belied his strength, which he used to his advantage. At the station, he was nicknamed Ghost for his pale skin and the way he always seemed to turn up when no one was looking.

Cain let out a frustrated sigh. They had been tracking a lead on the thief, but there seemed to be nothing of importance to be found. "Probably. I hate not knowing what's going on."

"I still think we should go back to the first victim," Della replied. He had dark skin and eyes, and seemed to perpetually scowl when on patrol. He wasn't as tall as Cain, but he was built almost entirely of muscle. He moved like one of the thugs they often caught on the streets, and certainly was intimidating to look at. "I still think she was lying to us."

"They were _all_ lying to us about something," Callan replied, shrugging. "The question is whether or not it's worth it to us to persue."

"We're tin men," Della snapped, shaking his head. "That should mean something."

And that, Cain decided, is exactly why the three of them were all friends. Being tin men meant something to each of them, and they took their oaths as sacred. It wasn't just a piece of tin on their chest, it was a way of life. It was a way of being.

"You probably scare her," Cain said, a smile threatening to form on his face. "I'd go back but she'd make cow eyes at me."

Callan snickered. "She won't talk to me, the old bat. I probably look more like a statue against her wall."

Cain sighed. "Why do they all talk to me?"

"You're a people person," Callan offered. He clapped Cain on the back. "Come on, I think we're done for the night. The old bat can wait until tomorrow. The thief's not here."

Once they all returned to the station, the captain waved Cain over. "There's a message from the palace. Not urgent, but it looks fairly important." The captain handed over a cream colored envelope sealed with green wax and the emblem of the royal family.

Cain walked over to his desk and unloaded his pockets. He sat down heavily and stared at the envelope for a long time. The last formal missive had been an invitation to DG's coming out ball as the Crown Princess, and he hadn't even bothered to answer. He didn't know how to. Tin men and princesses didn't mix, and their roles were formalized now. She wasn't some random girl running about the OZ needing a tin man to guide her. She was the Crown Princess, the one that would someday be crowned the Queen of the OZ. Royalty and working folk just didn't get on that way.

He took his letter opener and slit the seal, almost dreading what it would say. A formal rebuke for not going to the ball? A request to see him again? It wasn't his fault if DG didn't know her place in the order of things, but he sure as hell had to enforce it.

He blinked at the text on the page, and almost dropped it on his desk in disbelief.

_DG disappeared during the formal coming out ball that was held in her honor. The Queen of the OZ formally requests your aid to investigate the disappearance, and wishes that you remain discreet in your inquiry. Should you accept this job, all of your current cases will be temporarily suspended to allow you to focus your time appropriately. You will be rewarded handsomely once DG is found._

Well, now. This was certainly news.

He remembered DG's blue eyes, vivid and wide in her face. He remembered how strong she tried to be, even when it looked as though she was going to fall over. He remembered how she had fearlessly charged into the memory display, trying to save him and his family with nothing more than a stick. She was not the type to willingly cooperate in an abduction, so anything along those lines would be loud and messy and likely result in some kind of commotion. While he would certainly take up the job and do it right, he sincerely doubted it was any ordinary abduction or assassination attempt.

_She ran,_ Cain's gut told him. Overwhelmed by everything she couldn't understand, it had become too much for her. The life she had thought was hers, the one she had tried to save, wasn't even hers. While she had seemed overjoyed enough once the danger had passed and the eclipse resolved, there had been an element of sadness about her. Something he didn't quite pin down at the time, but now he wished he had.

Cain folded the short missive back into the envelope and tucked it inside his jacket pocket. He loaded all of his belongings back into his pockets and head straight to his captain. The captain didn't look very surprised to see him. "I'm requested at the palace. I'll need some time."

The captain nodded thoughtfully. "The delivery man suggested it was more urgent than it looked." He looked at Cain. "You take care, now. I don't want to lose you so soon after I got you back on my team."

"I don't plan on it, Captain."

The captain grinned. "Plans sure don't have a way of turning out how you figure, Cain. Life is like that."

Cain nodded. "I'll keep it mind."

"Take as much time as you need. We'll take care of things while you're out and about."

Discomfited by how neatly he had been trapped into this, Cain could only nod. He left, tight lipped and face drawn into a mask. _Something's not right. She ran, but why?_

He could only hope that he'd find her and she would be able to tell him.

***

Cain strode into the Great Hall of the palace and didn't bother to take in the ornate detailing along the parquet floors, marble columns or painted ceilings. This wasn't his place, and those details wouldn't help him find DG any faster. He was presented to the Queen, only taking off his hat to show respect. The courtiers hissed at him to scrape and bow like some syncophantic admirer, and he fixed them with a glare. He was here at her request, but in an official capacity. He wasn't some mindless courtier. He was a tin man, and he was here to do his damn job. The courtiers could go to hell with their useless concerns.

The Queen's lips quirked somewhat. "Glitch tells me you were a friend of my daughter's."

Past tense. Cain immediately noticed it, and immediately knew where his place was to be. "We traveled together," he replied noncomittally. It was as nonthreatening as he cared to be at the moment. The Queen had wanted his help, not his manners.

"I need you to find her. She's grown up away from the OZ, and in the last fifteen annuals, I've missed much of her life. I wouldn't know where to begin to look." The Queen lost the haughty cast to her features, and they softened in concern. "Find her, please. Any help you can give me will be rewarded."

Cain relaxed his posture a fraction. All right. As long as it wasn't going to be thrown in his place that he wasn't one of them, he didn't mind it so much. "I'll need to interview your staff and go over the timeline of events from the ball. They may not want to associate with one of my station."

The Queen shrugged. "They'll have to accommodate your needs."

A hint of a smile played across Cain's lips. Even better. The haughtiness had been for show. "I appreciate that, your Majesty."

He painstakingly interviewed every servant and guest still staying at the castle. Most were unhelpful. The most helpful to him were Glitch and Azkadellia. Glitch repeated the story he had told to the Queen earlier. Azkadellia answered the questions without elaborating, something at set Cain's inner alarm bells ringing. While he certainly had no love lost for Azkadellia's time as the Sorceress, he couldn't quite put aside his feelings. _If she only tried harder..._ It was likely that she felt the same way, and her grief was palpable. Something was there, something Azkadellia wasn't sure of and would never put forth while unsure.

"What did you see, Azkadellia?" Cain asked, almost abruptly. "What happened?"

"She was worried. She didn't think she fit in around here, and then she went to dance with Lord Rustling."

"And who is he?"

"He's heir apparent to the Ashvale District." Azkadellia shrugged. "Not terribly bright and thinks he's rather important even if he isn't. Ashvale isn't that necessary for the OZ's continued safety. It's a small province."

"Where is he?"

"He would have gone to Ashvale," Azkadellia replied.

Cain paused, pursing his lips slightly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"What? I'm telling you everything I know."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're leaving something out."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"What about things you don't know? What about what you _suspect?"_

Something shifted in Azkadellia's gaze. She looked to the side, noting that they weren't observed. Cain couldn't help but note that as she licked her lips nervously. "Deeg doesn't think she belongs here. And Rustling isn't exactly known for his tact. It's why he's still single, even if Ashvale has wonderful farms and two growth cycles to the annual. Anyone who wanted the land would still have to put up with him. I _suspect_ he said something that made her feel even more out of place. She left the dance in a hurry, and she didn't look too happy about it. She didn't even wait until the song ended."

"You noticed that."

"You notice things when no one wants to talk to you anymore and you sit by yourself all night."

Azkadellia seemed to startle herself with her tart reply, and Cain almost smiled at her. "I think that I need to talk with this Lord Rustling."

"If he's gone to Ashvale, the fastest way there and back would be by storm."

"A travel storm," Cain clarified. Azkadellia nodded. "You don't seem too worried about those."

"I know how they work. I know how a lot of things work at this point." She stood up, her face blank. It was her new default expression, and Cain couldn't decide if it was more unsettling than her prior smug looks when she was the Sorceress. "I can send you there if you'd like."

"I would, thanks," he said with a nod. He caught the flash of surprise in her eyes. People probably just as rarely thanked her for her efforts as they talked to her. It would have been sad if it wasn't so understandable.

Azkadellia pressed her lips together almost nervously. She seemed almost poised to say something, but too hesitant to actually say it.

"What is it?" Cain asked, brows knitting together. He didn't know if there was anything else he should know about this Rustling character, but he doubted there was anything he wouldn't be able to handle.

"I should make you a talisman to get back, too."

"What do you mean?"

"They may not have skilled enough mages or witches."

While her statement was somewhat clipped, Cain understood what she was saying. A backwater area might not have the magical staff to spare for someone their lord didn't care for. And if Cain was going to speak with Rustling about a possible abduction of the Crown Princess, a travel storm back to Central City was about the last thing they were going to be concerned with. Cain nodded his assent, and Azkadellia left to do whatever it was she needed to do in order to craft travel storm talismans. He didn't ordinarily go for this kind of magic, but he understood that time was of the essence in this case. Anyone going missing was likely to stay missing the longer it took to track down any clues. That was simply the way of it. People forgot details that were important, others "forgot" to be on the lookout for clues when a case wasn't as salient, and abductions had this awful way of turning into murders when the abductee proved to be too difficult to maintain. While Cain wasn't convinced that this was an abduction per se, he did know that DG would never be a willing accomplice to one. If she had been abducted, she would put up a fight and annoy the hell out of any captor.

Azkadellia returned with two amulets. They were fairly plain to look at, but it wasn't their physical appearance that was the important part. "The emerald green one will return you to Central City. Use the brown one to get to Ashvale."

"Emerald," Cain commented in a bland tone of voice.

Azkadellia looked stricken, her already pale face going a shade lighter. "It's just a color," she stammered after a moment.

"Of course," he replied, wanting to kick himself. She was _helping_ him, and he didn't need to needle her for the witch's actions. She hadn't been in control of her faculties then. She wasn't the one that ordered his family abducted and his body imprisoned in an iron suit. She wasn't that same Sorceress, even if it was too difficult to remember when looking at her. He should have bitten his tongue better, should have reined himself in better. He was a tin man, for the OZ's sake. He was supposed to be forthright and just, a champion against the evils in the land. It tarnished his tin to be so petty.

"Just... Just find Deeg, all right?"

Cain caught her arm as she was turning to flee the room. "I'm sorry, Princess," he told her sincerely. He hastily dropped her arm, aware of the impropriety in it. "I spoke out of turn, and it isn't fair to you. You've been the most help in this investigation."

A slight flush colored the apples of Azkadellia's cheeks. "She's my sister. She's the important one here."

He could see that she honestly believed that, that she truly counted herself for so little. "She needs your help to guide her way. She's still a stranger here in many ways."

Azkadellia's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You're much wiser than anyone gives you credit for."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Princess."

"It was meant to be one," she replied, voice almost tart. "Take care of yourself."

Cain let her sweep out of the room regally, shreds of her pride intact. It was the least he could do for her.

***

Ashvale was a lush, green land in the south, not that far away from Fenaqua. It was a fairly small district, just outside of the main OZ territory, and had mostly gone unaffected by the Sorceress's rule. It lay in the shadow of Masou Mountain, which was the border between the two territories. Its lands were known for its bountiful crops, plentiful orchards and rivers full of fish. The leaders of Ashvale had always been fair and interested in trade, as the land wasn't known for mechanical items or manufactured goods. It was primarily agrarian, a fact that its current Lord Rustling didn't seem to understand. This Lord Rustling was a pompous fool, too full of himself to realize the harm he was doing to his country. He was getting on in years, but no woman wanted to become his bride. His people didn't believe in him or his rule, and kept hoping that someone capable would become Lady Rustling.

Cain was greeted into Lord Rustling's court with a certain amount of pomp that he hadn't expected. It was likely due to the fact that he had come from the royal court by travel storm, rather than his station. People like Lord Rustling would never deign to wait on him or hold court in a main receiving room for a mere tin man.

Lord Rustling knew nothing. That much was evident before Cain even asked a question. It was the way he looked, the blank vacuous gaze he had, the way he automatically thought Cain's presence signified a more important invitation to a more important ball.

"But of course I danced with the Princess," Lord Rustling said, leaning back in his ornate seat. His receiving room was set up to resemble a royal antechamber. Cain found it overly ostentatious and gaudy in its excess. Rustling was trying too hard to impress, and Cain found himself recoiling slightly at the sight of it all. Rustling smiled, and it made Cain's spine crawl. "She is quite a beauty, as you're aware. She needs a strong consort by her side to protect her from all that she doesn't understand in the OZ."

"Did you say as much to her?" Cain asked idly. He stood ramrod straight, as if paying the pompous little man respect. Rustling seemed to like the posture, even if it was Cain's way of expressing his discomfort.

"But of course. I told her the Longcoats would never bother her in my country."

Cain's gaze grew razor sharp. "You mentioned the Lost Time?"

Rustling paled, realizing his error immediately. "I... Uh... I _alluded_ to it. I never actually mentioned any of the forbidden things, Tin Man. You understand how it is."

She ran. Cain was sure of it now. "What else _didn't_ you say?"

Rustling was practically trembling in his seat, afraid that he would be hauled into the royal court and charged with treason. The Queen had overreacted, but it was her right to set the rules and punish as she saw fit. Cain would never complain about the law, as his place was to enforce it. Still, mentioning the Lost Time or Longcoats wasn't something he felt should be treason. It made for an effective questioning technique at this moment, however.

"She came by storm, Tin Man. She doesn't understand how things work. She needs someone to guide her."

Lips pressed tight, Cain placed his hat back on his head. Rustling didn't seem to realize it was his own way to insult the man. "If the royal family wishes to discuss anything with you, you will be contacted. I have what I need."

Stunned at the terse dismissal, Rustling couldn't move as Cain left the room. Cain was now very grateful for the travel storm amulet, and used it exactly as Azkadellia had instructed him to. It returned him to a lesser ballroom in the palace at Central City, just off the main hallway. From there, he summoned a servant to find Azkadellia for him. It was too improper to do on his own, even if he knew where she would be.

She was dressed in a midnight blue dress that covered her from throat to ankle, with formfitting sleeves that went down to her wrists. While it was just as formfitting as her prior dresses as the Sorceress, it was much more demure in cut. The change was startling. It made her eyes that much more blue, and her pale skin that much more pale. Cain could see the resemblance between the sisters right away. He would never admit it, but he missed DG's friendship.

"You found something important," Azkadellia reported right away.

"I _suspect_ something important," Cain replied with a wry twist to his lips, echoing their earlier conversation.

He was startled to see her return the half smile with one of her own. "How can I help?"

"I need more amulets like the ones you made for me." Cain held out the two spent amulets and let Azkadellia take them. "Only, I need the next location to be on the Other Side."

Azkadellia's hand froze around the chains holding the amulets. "You think she went to the Other Side? Why?"

"Where does someone go when they're upset?" Cain returned.

"Somewhere safe," Azkadellia replied immediately. It was almost painful for Cain to hear the surety in her voice and know that she had no such place herself.

"DG wouldn't consider this place home," Cain continued, voice soft. "Not a judgment on us, but a fact of her not growing up here. So I need a set of travel storms to and from her home on the Other Side."

"That will be more difficult," she murmured, clasping the amulets to her chest. "It's... draining," she said after a moment, finally settling on the word.

"I wouldn't ask such a thing of you if I wasn't sure that she is there."

"I know," Azkadellia replied, nodding. "I'll do it. They might be ready for you by late tomorrow or the day after."

"I'll return the day after," Cain decided. "I'll speak with the Queen in the meantime of some of my suspicions."

"She'll think it's a judgment on us."

"I'll choose my words carefully," Cain countered wryly. He didn't think that was going to go well, but it was his responsibility to report to her.

The Queen was not ready to see him until the following afternoon. She saw him in a small chamber off of the formal audience room. She was in a lavender gown to match her eyes, and was setting her coronet down on the table beside her. Her Advisor was in attendance, frowning at her. "I'm merely a mother now," the Queen said, answering Cain's unspoken question.

"Azkadellia was actually very helpful in my investigation so far, such as it is." Cain watched as the Queen's eyes widened a fraction, and merely nodded in response. "There really wasn't anything to go on regarding DG's disappearance. She _suspected_ a few things, but didn't feel comfortable stating them as fact."

"But..."

"And she made travel storm amulets, which allowed me to travel very quickly. If not for these, I would never have been able to come to you today."

"I didn't know such a thing was even possible," the advisor said in disbelief. "That's hardly ordinary magic."

The Queen's discomfort was visible. "Not even in the Old Ways did they do such things."

Cain dismissed their statements as irrelevant. He didn't know how magic worked, didn't care about finding out more about it. "I think DG is on the Other Side."

The Queen's breath caught. "But we're here."

"I think she's very overwhelmed," Cain began slowly. "She knows very few people here, and she has a lot of responsibility now. It could be her way to regroup."

"Did Azkadellia tell you this?"

"No. She merely told me of DG's discomfort." Cain tilted his head somewhat. "It's unfortunate about the past several years with the Sorceress. She does have DG's and the OZ's best interests in heart, even if she doesn't trust her own judgment."

The Queen's expression froze in place. She unconsciously reached out for the coronet, her fingertips resting lightly across the top of the golden circlet. "You need to find DG."

"I will be leaving for the Other Side as soon as the amulets are ready. I merely wished to update you on my progress, due to the need for this to be resolved quickly."

"I thank you," the Queen murmured, her hand closing over the coronet. "I appreciate the effort."

As Cain turned to leave the room, he thought he saw the Queen gesture at him from the corner of his eye. He turned, catching sight of his own startled expression in the mirrored wall's reflection, then faced the Queen. She looked at him expectantly, placing the coronet back upon her head. "The men I work with... I wouldn't imagine that I could do half the job that I'm able to do without them. I trust them with my life. I think DG needs to find advisors she can trust like that."

The Queen's gaze didn't even flick to take in her advisor. "Thank you, tin man."

Cain nodded briskly, then left the room. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of seeing a ghost out of the side of his vision. It was the damn palace, he decided. The very expense and extravagance made his spine itch. He needed to find DG and quickly, before he got sucked into more political bullshit.

***  
***


	3. On The Other Side

Cain vaguely remembered the description of DG's house the one time she had tried to talk about it while they were walking along the Old Road. It was number thirty nine, with a rail fence and machinery she used to fix to keep it operational. Her room was the attic, with her drawings everywhere. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the reverent tone in her voice as she spoke about the things she loved about her parents, as well as the things that frustrated her. That had been before they all discovered her parents were androids, before they realized who she truly had been. _Before I had to let her go,_ Cain thought, and wondered where it came from.

He sighed and shook his head. She was Crown Princess now. That changed everything.

He rubbed at his jaw and stepped into the house, ignoring the feeling of being watched. The house looked deserted from the outside, but that didn't mean much of anything. Azkadellia had said something about time moving differently on the Other Side, and that travel storms often skewed time as well. "A master could pinpoint the exact moment they need to reenter the world on either side of the storm. But it still is difficult to calculate exactly. I did the best I could when locking the spell to the amulet."

It was an old farmhouse, the kind of thing he would have built if he was a farmer and not a tin man. The furniture was cozy and the pictures on the walls spoke of love and good times together as a family. _This is why she came back,_ he thought, looking at a picture of the three of them in a frame. _She doesn't feel this way in the OZ._

A shadow seemed to slide across the edge of the glass, and Cain turned his head. He saw a door through an arched entry into a hallway, and suspected that it was the doorway to the attic. He headed toward it, and the knob turned easily under his hand. He crept up the stairs slowly, careful not to make much noise. There was a faint sound coming from the upper reaches of the attic, something that sounded almost like sobbing.

Cain tread very softly across the boards and stopped short only a few feet away from the bed. There was DG lying face down on her bed, still in her exquisite ballgown, sobbing in earnest. He looked around, taking in the sketches she had pinned to the walls. There were photos of places he had never seen before, so they were likely Other Side places. There were books on travel and language and mechanics, all with well worn covers and broken spines. He picked up a framed photograph of DG and her parents... er, the androids she had grown up thinking were her parents. She looked so happy, the house in the background and an old car beside them. This was the life she had left when the Sorceress tracked her down. This was what she was comfortable with.

"W-what are you doing here?"

Cain turned, putting the photograph down. He faced DG, unsure of what to say. Tears tracked down her face, her makeup was ruined and she clutched the pillow in tight fists. Instead of the blank look he had gotten used to, her face was a mask of pain. Still, she was beautiful. He could never say such a thing to her, but he recognized it just the same.

"You went missing, DG."

"I just left, Cain," she admonished, voice raw from crying. She shook her head. "You won't come to the ball but you'll track me down for leaving early?"

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "DG, you've been missing for five days."

Her snort of laughter was mirthless. "You're not funny."

"I'm not trying to be. You've been missing for five days, and the Queen asked me to find you."

"I've only been gone five hours."

Cain shook his head. "It's been longer than that. People are worried about you."

"How'd you get here, then?" she asked, voice warbling slightly. With effort, DG put the pillow down and tried to fold her hands in her lap.

"Azkadellia made travel storm amulets."

Cain didn't think it was possible, but her blank face became even blanker. "Amulets."

He nodded. "Since I don't have magic, that's the only way to direct me back."

DG jumped to her feet, skirts billowing around her. She wiped at her face absently, rather like a small child. "What are you going to do? Drag me back? I haven't even been gone that long. It's not true. I've only been gone five hours. Five _hours,_ not five _days._ Five hours."

"It's true, Princess."

_"Don't call me that!"_ DG shrieked, startling them both. She clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers with her shock.

Cain gently caught hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away from her mouth. She didn't resist him. "I wouldn't lie to you, you know. It's been five days in the OZ. And you're the Crown Princess now. There are rules about this, and I can't break them."   
DG's lips trembled, and her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "It's not me, Cain. I can't do that. I'm no princess."

His gaze raked over her form, the dress cinched tight around her curves and the loose curls falling down around her upturned face. Her delicate wrists were still caught up in his hands, but he didn't want to let go of her just yet. "This is reality, Princess," he said softly yet firmly. "This is who you are."

"No, I'm not," DG insisted, pulling herself out of his grasp. "I'm a waitress in community college in a fucking backwater town in Kansas. I'm not anybody important. I can't even get it together to figure out what I want to do with my life. I can't be anybody's princess. I can't rule any country and I can't be counted on to save anything."

Cain caught her hands in his. "You saved the OZ from eternal darkness. You saved Azkadellia from the witch."

"It was my fault she got possessed in the first place. If I wasn't such a stupid kid, she wouldn't have had any of that happen. They're better off without me."

Cain wanted to shake her. "Where's that fierce girl I first met? Where did she go?"

"I can't do this, Cain, I can't!"

"Why? Are you that convinced you're some kind of waitress? This isn't real either!"

DG's face crumpled and the tears began to fall in earnest. "I don't know where to go anymore."

He pulled her into a tight embrace, and she linked her arms around him. Cain closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her. It had been ages since he had held a woman this way, and it had been Adora at that. Some part of him knew that he shouldn't touch the Crown Princess this way, that it was all kinds of inappropriate. But he was DG's friend as well, and he had always been her favorite target to touch and tickle, simply because it had annoyed him so much while they were traveling. She was an affectionate woman, all hugs and smiles and bright eyes. She didn't know what to do with sadness, didn't know how to react to stress like this.

DG looked up at him, blue eyes shimmering with tears. "What happens now? I'm not ready. I can't do this."

"I trust you, DG," Cain replied gently. His hands were at her waist, and he realized belatedly he had used her name. She nodded, though, and didn't mind the transgression. She caught his hands in hers and brought them to her chest. "I..."

DG stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the lips. Cain could feel the skin of her chest against the backs of his fingers, and he longed to feel more of her. Before he could even stop the thought, DG deepened the kiss and slid her tongue along his lips.

If he stopped this now, she would hate him. If he didn't, he would hate himself. And that didn't even take into account the inappropriateness of the relationship. She was royalty, and he was a common tin man. Rock, meet hard place.

Her arms looped around his neck as he found himself kissing her back. Who was he kidding? He cared about her more than he should, more than it was his right to. DG obviously cared about him the same way. "We shouldn't," he murmured against her mouth. His last effort at decorum.

DG shook her head and pulled him closer. "Stop talking," she replied. She kissed him again, with even more fervor, and Cain wrapped his arms around her. _Just this once..._

They fell onto her bed, and Cain rolled on top of her. DG lay with legs splayed beneath him, voluminous skirts twisted between them. He braced himself with one arm, not breaking their kiss, and pushed at all the layers of tulle and silk. He found her thighs, still wrapped up in silk stockings. Just skimming over the silk and feeling the lace from the garter sent his pulse racing. He could feel her bare thigh beneath the garter, could feel the heat of her. The scent of her was intoxicating. She wanted him, didn't want him to stop. He should protect her from herself, shouldn't he? He was a tin man, he should do the right thing.

Of course, he was also still a man, and this was a beautiful woman that wanted him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as his fingers sought the center of her. She kissed him, hot and open, the emotions behind it clear and easy to read. She ran her hands down his chest and seized upon his belt. Cain broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. "DG..."

"Don't say no," she whispered fiercely. "Don't think. Don't stop."

He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, hot and open and greedy all at the same time. Her tongue invaded his mouth first, her hands sliding around his waist. The tips of her fingers slipped beneath the edge of his trousers, working his shirt loose. She unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down from his waist. With a sigh, Cain knelt between her spread legs. He looked at her as he slid a finger inside her, and the relief etched on her face was palpable. "I love you," she whispered, eyes closing as she arched up against his touch. "I love you."

At this point, he wasn't going to think anymore. Thinking only brought about bad things. Thinking only reminded him that he must be twice her age, that she shouldn't know how to kiss like this, that he shouldn't be reaching above his station. Thinking only brought heartache, and he'd had enough for at least a dozen lifetimes.

Exquisite dresses tended to be fairly flimsy. The top was easily pushed down away from her breasts, and the skirts were crushed between them. Cain couldn't take his eyes off the expanse of skin bared to him. It was almost as if he was afraid to blink, that if he did she would disappear again. He had to memorize every moment, every touch, every sensation. This would be his only chance with her, and he had to savor. He dragged a fingertip through the damp curls before dipping it back inside her. He took a breast into his mouth, almost reverently. He rolled his tongue about her nipple, causing her to gasp at the pleasure shooting through her. She caught hold of his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He sucked gently, and DG gasped at the feel of it. She could barely even think, only moan with pleasure. Cain held onto her as she arched her back, pressing herself even closer to his mouth. _Yes,_ her body sang triumphantly. This was exactly what she had been waiting for. _Yes._

DG dragged her hands down his back, then reached around to his front. She encircled his cock in a sure grip, beginning to stroke him. Cain's breath fluttered across her skin in shock, and DG couldn't help but grin saucily. "Mm... I like this."

"What?" he asked, lips hovering just above the wet peak of her nipple.

"Shocking you. The way you feel. I want-" Her breath shattered as he crooked a finger inside her, and she all but curled around him. Her fist tightened around him almost painfully for a fraction of a second, then she consciously let him go. "God, Cain, I want..."

"Wyatt," he murmured, lifting his head so he could meet her eyes. "DG."

Her grin was like a thousand sunrises combined into one. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for a ferocious kiss, the other hand still tight around his cock. He moved his finger inside her, his thumb against her moist clit. Back and forth, back and forth, rubbing all the spots that made her purr and throw her head back in bliss. Faster, faster, a slight turn to his fingertips and then her eyes shot open as she gasped for breath. Her own thumb flicked over the head of his cock, and Cain almost couldn't breathe. _"Yes,"_ she hissed when she could breathe again. "Just like that, please God, Wyatt, just like that, just there..."

Cain nearly came from the sound of his name on her lips, and had to bite his lip to keep from spilling into her hand like a schoolboy. He moved faster against her, bit down on his lip harder and could feel her inner muscles begin to clench around his finger. "Come for me, Deeg," he whispered, eyes falling shut. "Come on, sweetheart."

She came with a startled cry, body tightening like a bow string then falling back against the bed. She let go of his cock some time before she had actually come, and DG reached out for him. Cain smiled at her, catching the hand with his. His other hand was still between her thighs, still working her clit, slick with her own come. "Not yet, DG," he murmured, catching her amazed gaze. "Not for a while yet." She could do no more than writhe beneath him as wave after wave of sensation overtook her, until her entire body thrummed with the force of the pleasure shooting through her when she came again. She watched in languid desire as Cain sighed with relief and positioned himself between her legs. "DG," he murmured, sliding into her. His breath caught in his throat, and whatever he was going to say was left unsaid.

They rocked against each other, point and counterpoint, thrust and parry and _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ chanting. Cain was drowning in the blue of her eyes, in the look she was giving him. It was partly devotion and love and desire and that soulful connection she seemed to have with him. Why did she have to be the princess? Couldn't she have been any old Othersider that Cain could have kept for a bride? Why did she have to be a royal with responsibilities and a duty to the rest of the OZ?

His heart splintered to pieces as he came inside her, knowing it was going to be the first and last time.

DG stretched out beside him when he collapsed to the bed, sparing her his weight. She smiled, contented and sensual, a lithe sinous expression on her face. "Mmm. Fabulous."

Cain couldn't answer, didn't want to answer. He knew he would have to tell her about going back, restore her to her rightful throne and the onerous duty that would be her life. He couldn't break her heart even if his own was shattered to pieces.

"I want to show you the farm," she was saying, not understanding his silence. "Maybe show you off at the diner." She laughed, almost self consciously. "I always thought I was a loser."

Cain sat up abruptly and stared at her. "What?"

"Well, you know, it's stupid. Something silly." DG stretched her arms out over her head, not caring if her dress was wadded up around her waist. She could feel his seed on her thighs, but couldn't be bothered to do anything about it. It felt as if her bones had melted, her muscles no more capable of carrying her weight than a skien of silk thread. "I didn't feel like I belonged. I didn't know why, you know. I just thought... Well, I thought only stupid losers felt that way. And it's not like I had an awesome goal in mind, no career, no purpose. I was just space walking and talking and moving around trying to find out what I was meant to do."

"We have to go back, you know," Cain said gently, shoulders slumped. He couldn't meet DG's eyes, and didn't even try to look at her. He felt awful. Not for the sex. That part was amazing and beautiful and whatever poetic words Adora would've known to say. Reality had just come crashing down, and he didn't dare hope for this to repeat ever again. That was the worst part. How do you go on knowing that you could never have something like that again?

DG shot bolt upright in the bed, hair falling down around her face in a mass of loose curls and tangles. "Wyatt."

He didn't answer. He couldn't lie to her, not about this.

"And now you won't even look at me," she said, voice hoarse. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

He turned and looked at her with a wry twist to his lips that might have been a smile. "It's not that, I promise."

"I don't want to be a princess if I never see you again."

"I don't make the rules. I just enforce them." Cain was careful not to call her Princess again, though everything in him was kicking him for allowing the intimacy. Now he wouldn't be content with the life he was leading. Now he would be sloppy and hopeless and wanting more than he could have.

"Can't I make a rule so I can see you? Can't I _order_ you to stay with me?" Her voice took on a sultry tone with the second question. "I think that would be kinda hot."

He shook his head, not even allowing himself to smile at her words. He stood and slowly tucked his shirt back into his pants. "I have a job to do..."

"So I'm a _job_ now?" she asked, jumping up to her feet. Her temper flared, and Cain nearly took a step back from her. "I'm just a job to do?!"

"You said that," Cain pointed out. "I told you I was supposed to bring you back to your mother."

"My _mother?_ You mean the Queen."

"She is your mother," Cain said patiently.

"My mother is erased. My other mother is more concerned with her own rules than with how I'm doing. I'm trying to tell you that I don't belong there."

"But you don't belong here, either."

"You don't know that," DG snapped. "You don't know me. You don't."

"Then you can't know me, either," Cain replied heavily. "And if you don't know me, you can't love me."

DG flinched, but remained silent. She didn't like having her own words thrown back at her.

"We have to go back," Cain told her. When she didn't move, he gently rearranged the dress so that the skirt fell down properly and the bodice was hitched back over her bosom. DG made no effort to stop him, merely looking at him with those large blue eyes and a wounded expression. He reached out and grasped her hands, pulling her close to him. "You can't just ignore the responsibilities you have."

"I didn't want them," she replied plaintively. "I wanted to be special, but I didn't want to be the ruler of an alternate dimension or something."

He touched the line of her jaw, then dropped his hands. "You _are_ special. You're what the OZ needs right now." He took out the remaining travel amulet that Azkadellia had made, and took DG by the elbow. "It's time to go back."

"But I don't want to go there, not like this." As he hit the central part of the amulet to activate it, DG's hand closed over his. The sigil in her palm flared to life as she did so.

Wherever they landed, it wasn't the OZ. And it wasn't Kansas.

DG looked around, her eyes wide as saucers. They were in a large, open room made of white and gray veined marble, glass and silvered accents. There were black accents in places, but it was more clearly a white and gray kind of place. She passed her reflection in the mirrored walls, ignoring her dishevelled appearance. "Wyatt, we're not in Kansas anymore."

Cain almost shivered at the husky note in her tone, but kept his tongue firmly between his teeth. "We're not in the palace, either," he said when he could trust his voice. "I don't know how I know that, but I do." He looked around. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to go somewhere _else."_

Cain spun around to face her, incredulous. "You did this?"

DG snapped around and glared at him. "I don't know what I did, okay? I don't know this magic thing so well!"

There was the faraway click of heels on stone. _Click, click, click._

"That doesn't sound like anyone's step that I know," Cain muttered. He kept his hand at his waist, but his hand closed over nothing. No gun. Dammit, he had forgotten it on DG's bedroom floor.

A young woman approached, dressed in white and silver much the way DG was dressed. She had emerald green eyes and golden hair like spun silk curled into ringlets that framed her heart shaped face. She looked at the two of them expectantly, as if their dishevelled appearance was perfectly ordinary. "You made it, after all," she murmured. Her voice had a musical quality, falling bells on a concertina.

"What?"

The woman smiled at DG's shock. "I've been expecting you. I've been expecting you both, really, and have been keeping watch through the mirrors."

The shivers, the brief glimpses, the shadows and shapes at the corner of his vision made sense now. Cain still didn't know who she was. He opened his mouth to speak, but the girl placed a finger over her lips in a plea for silence. "Come with me," she said, voice soft. "This isn't a good place to talk."

"Where is?" Cain demanded. "Where are we?"

"The Mirror Zone, of course," the girl replied. "It's where the wizard banished me oh so long ago." She smiled at DG warmly. "Your greatest-greatgrandmother had rescued me, of course, and placed me back on the rightful throne of Oz. But there were troubled times, and I couldn't sustain rule. I gave her the throne willingly, and gave her all my magic. It's been a trait of all those in the Gale line ever since." The girl surged forward, as if dancing, and clapsed DG's hands in hers. "The Mirror Zone has its own magic, its own space, its own pains. It's been a place I could learn and leave Oz to Dorothy."

"Oz?" Cain asked, feeling as though he was missing vitally important.

"The land of Oz," the blonde girl began patiently, "was willed to me by my father, King Pastoria. The Wizard took the throne from me as a child and gave me to Mombi. I was changed, and Glinda made Mombi change me back. I couldn't challenge the wizard, not as I was, so my aunt Queen Lurlaine took me to her fairy kingdom to teach me magic. But even then..." She shrugged helplessly. "Dorothy has been a much better leader than I ever could have been. And all her descendants in the Gale line have been so wonderful. But now the Mirror Zone is in danger. It's not safe here."

"But who-"

"Please. We can't stay here. They'll come for me, and they'll find you. We have to get out of here."

"Who would find us?" DG asked, brows furrrowing in confusion. "This Mombi person?"

"No, Dorothy broke her tyrrany and the Nome King was defeated. No, this is different..."

"What's your name?" Cain asked, frustrated the way he still couldn't piece anything together.

The blonde beamed at them. "Ozma of Oz," she replied with a curtsy. "Now, if you'd care to return there, you have to follow me."

"The OZ," DG murmured, glancing at Cain. "And my greatest-greatgrandmother was Dorothy Gale."

"Of course," Ozma said, rolling her eyes. "We have to go before the Breakers come."

"The Breakers?" DG echoed, confused.

"Magic eaters. Soul stealers. Breakers." Ozma grabbed both of their hands and tugged. "Come. You have to come with me. If you don't, time will fracture."

"What are you talking about?" Cain demanded, digging in his heels.

Ozma's eyes filled with tears. "Please, there's no time. No time. I'll explain later, I promise. I promise. But we have to go. If the Breakers feel your magic here, they'll come. There's not supposed to be magic here, so they'll know to come."

"And if they do?"

"They eat your souls and break you apart. And there is no leaving the Mirror Zone then, and time will shatter. You're needed where you are, on the other side of the mirror, on the other side of the dawn."

There was the sound of glass shattering from far away, and Ozma nearly shrieked. She yanked on their hands and broke into a run.

DG and Cain had no choice but to follow.

***  
***


	4. Another Journey

Azkadellia had been walking down one of the hallways when she felt a sharp, stabbing lance of pain in her chest. She couldn't breathe, and was dimly aware that she was collapsing to her hands and knees. It felt like death, like magic twisting sideways and _wrong,_ and she _knew_ that it had to do with DG.

If she had been alone, truly alone, she could have hidden away in her rooms and tried to puzzle it out on her own. As it was, she was in one of the busier hallways, on her way to the main garden. She could feel one of the servants grab her arms and hoist her back to her feet. She was being dragged somewhere, one of the smaller reception rooms, and laid down on the cold marble floor. _White and gray, veining in the opposite color. Glass. Mirror. Metal._

"Azkadellia!"

The voice was vaguely familiar, concern lancing through it. She hadn't heard that tone in annuals, and the sound of it broke her heart to pieces.

_Dawn is coming. The light is breaking. I can see its particles..._

"Azkadellia, answer me!"

She opened her eyes slowly, painfully. Light stabbed at her eyes, and the cold marble beneath her thin dress was seeping to her very bones. She shivered and coughed, and fixed her eyes on her mother's lavender ones. "Mother," she whispered hoarsely, feeling as though her body had been ripped to pieces and stitched roughly back together again.

"What happened?" the Queen asked, voice trembling.

This pain was beyond the death of her demon children when she was the Sorceress. This was more than that, a searing, soul-breaking pain. Azkadellia trembled in her mother's arms, unable to speak. "M-mirrors," she finally gasped out. "Breakers."

"I don't understand," the Queen said, brows furrowing in confusion. "Azkadellia, what are you saying? What's going on?"

"Deeg. Breakers. Mirrors." Azkadellia shook her head, unable to get any more out. Her lungs seemed to seize every time she tried to say more than a syllable or two at a time. She coughed, and ash spilled from her lips to fall onto her chest. Her mother looked at her in horror, but Azkadellia couldn't do any more than stare with wide eyes.

"We have to get the court physician..." the Queen told a servant at her elbow. The servant nodded and backed away before breaking out into a run. "Azkadellia! Hold on!"

_It almost sounds like you care,_ Azkadellia thought, almost bitter. Her insides twisted with pain, and she shuddered in her mother's grasp. _And it only takes extreme pain to draw it out of you._

Azkadellia closed her eyes, unable to tolerate the light. It seemed almost as if she had swallowed a sun, and now she was starting to burn from the inside out. Her mother didn't have magic anymore, and it was likely the only thing saving her at the moment. _It's eating my magic. It's eating me alive._

The Emerald of the Eclipse, strung on a thick silver chain around the Queen's neck, flared to life. It bathed Azkadellia in a vivid emerald glow, and she could feel the pain subside. The ash and smoke receeded, and she could breathe again. "Mother?"

The Queen's eyes were filled with tears. "Thank the suns, you're all right."

The emerald light slowly dimmed, and Azkadellia sat up slowly. "It was the amulet. Something went wrong, and DG isn't here."

"But this reaction isn't just a failed amulet spell," the Queen said, fingering the ash that had fallen to the marble floor.

"It felt like something was tracing the spell back to me and consuming my magic."

The Queen had gone deathly pale. "What?"

Azkadellia saw a spark of knowledge in her mother's eyes. She had always suspected that her mother knew more about the old magics than she had ever let on, and this all but proved it. "What aren't you telling me, Mother?"

"It's just a story," the Queen whispered, shaking her head.

"What is?"

"The Breakers, you said," the Queen said faintly. "A story, from the old times..."

"Like the witch in the cave."

The Queen flinched at Azkadellia's flat, dead tone. "Yes," she said finally in a soft voice. "Like the witches of the OZ."

"What about the Breakers?"

"There were four good witches, and four bad ones," the Queen began, voice small and fragile. "The good witches of the east and west gave their lives to bind the bad witches in their prisons. The ones of the east and west were able to escape, and our ancestor Dorothy Gale defeated them. That's how she became Queen."

When the Queen fell silent, Azkadellia said firmly "We let the southern witch go."

The Queen nodded. "The northern witch is one of ice and snow. Her servants are the Breakers, meant to devour magic and the ties that keep the Zones separate."

"And the Breakers are coming," Azkadellia guessed.

"The unstable line must have brought them," the Queen whispered, almost to herself. "It's the end of the Gales now..."

The court physician arrived and Azkadellia waved him off. She pushed herself to her own feet; the Queen was still kneeling on the marble beside the flecks of ash, uncomprehendingly staring at it. "Mother. We still draw breath. It's not too late."

"We don't have defenses against the Breakers," the Queen replied, shaking her head sadly. "It is too late."

"The witches were all sisters," Azkadellia began softly, tentatively. The Queen looked up, confused. "We have an advantage the Ice Witch doesn't know about. I know everything the witch of Fenaqua knew."

Something almost like hope sparked in the Queen's expression. "Then we might still be saved."

"I can try," Azkadellia told her.

"Meet me in the throne room tomorrow at ten. I have guardians to summon."

Azkadellia blinked in surprise. For a moment, she had allowed herself to think of the Queen as her mother again, as someone who almost cared about how she was doing. She shouldn't have mentioned the water witch. She shouldn't have mentioned the possession. She shouldn't have let the emerald stop the Breakers from devouring her magic.

The Queen rose to her feet. "I need you to go on a journey tomorrow, Az. It's important and dangerous. I can't trust anyone else with it."

Hope flared in Azkadellia's chest, and she could feel her chest tighten with it. "Yes, Mother. Ten o'clock."

The Queen went to find her swiftest messenger and composed a letter quickly. Once it was set with the royal seal, the messenger flew to the heart of Central City.

***

They moved through the maze of mirrors, and DG was hopelessly lost. There was no way for her to retrace her steps, and even Cain looked dizzy. Finally Ozma slowed down, and dodged through a mirrored arch to the left. They were in a black marble hall that seemed to devour all light. "Peter?"

"Ozma? Did you find them?"

A tall, spindly figure with a large pumpkin for a head stepped out of the shadows. The pumpkin had an expressive face cut into it, and the spindly limbs were twigs clothed in an oversized guard's uniform. The eye sockets blinked in surprised delight. DG goggled at that. Did cut eyes blink?

"Peter, the Breakers. I heard the glass shatter."

"This is too far beyond the boundary, Ozma..."

"But they have magic."

Peter sighed and stooped down to face the three humans. "You have to run. Tik Tok is still at his post, Princess."

DG nearly bristled, but Ozma was shaking her head in reply to Peter. "I can't leave you here."

"You still have the magic powder, don't you, Princess?"

Ozma patted the pocket concealed in the frilly dress. "Yes, but..."

"So you can resurrect me. Let me do my job, Princess. Run. Find Tik Tok." Peter bowed to the three of them. "For the honor of Oz and the Mirror Zone."

Tears swam in Ozma's eyes. "For the honor of Oz," she whispered brokenly. She seized a twiggy hand and squeezed. "I shan't forget this, Peter."

He smiled a broad, toothy grin. "Of course not, but I will. Remind me when you find me." He bowed before DG and Cain. "I wish I could greet you both properly, but the danger doesn't allow it. Let Tik Tok do the honors. I will stay and defend your retreat."

"Thank you," DG whispered, clasping his hand herself. It felt like ordinary sticks that might have fallen out of trees, yet they were jointed into knuckles and hands and wrists. There was _life_ within the dry wood, and the carved smile was warm and friendly.

"For the honor of Oz!" Peter crowed, running out of the obsidian hallway. He followed the path they had just taken, and with a choked sob Ozma ran ahead into the dark hallway.

"Ozma, where are we going?" Cain asked, voice harsh with impatience.

Tears began to fall. "Tik Tok. He's on the Obsidian Border. The Breakers have never been this far before. I should never have met you here. I should have waited in the heart of our territory. But I thought the Hall of Mirrors was safe. I thought I could show you the Zone." Ozma sniffled as she ran, not bothering to wipe at her eyes. "I'm so stupid!"

DG gave Cain a helpless look as they followed Ozma. She didn't know the way, and Ozma's distress was all too real.

What had she gotten them into now?

***

Azkadellia strode into the main throne room at precisely ten o'clock. She had always been punctual. She was surprised to see two men already waiting in front of the throne. One was very tall, spindly thin and frighteningly pale. His black hair couldn't seem to stay flat, and he turned light blue eyes on her as she strode into the throne room. The other wasn't nearly so tall, probably just half a head shorter than Cain was. He had dark skin and dark eyes, and was standing at full attention. He was powerfully built and intimidating to look at as he scowled at everything in the room. Azkadellia took in the uniform of Center City's tin men, but didn't comprehend why they were there.

The Queen motioned Azkadellia forward. There were no advisors in the room, which Azkadellia found disconcerting. There was always at least one advisor near her at all times, even if it was Glitch. There were five now, five to do the job that Glitch had done alone when he was Ambrose. _Before I cut his head open,_ Azkadellia thought to herself scathingly. Sometimes she couldn't help the self flagellating thoughts that came up.

The Queen waited until Azkadellia was standing in front of her, next to the two men. "Azkadellia, these are two of Center City's finest. Benji Callan," the Queen pointed at the pale one, "and Paul Della," she said, pointing at the dark one. "They work closely with Wyatt Cain, and he trusts them implicitly. As a result, _I_ trust them implicitly. They are to be your honor guard on your journey."

Azkadellia swung her eyes from the two men to her mother. "You mentioned that yesterday," she began cautiously. Azkadellia had spent the night pondering what it might be, and had packed a small bag for the journey. She had it spelled to contain more space inside the bag than it looked, and to remain as light as it was when empty. The old ways had many useful magics that had been lost in the modern era, and Azkadellia was probably the only living practitioner, if the Ice Witch wasn't taken into account. No one knew what had happened to the good witches of the north and south; there were no tales after Dorothy Gale's time, and no one claimed to know about contemporary witches.

"This must be returned to the Gray Gale," the Queen said, lifting the Emerald of the Eclipse from around her neck. The room was so silent that Azkadellia could hear every link in the silver chain clink. "I need you to go to the family vault and return it."

"But the magic in it..."

"Will draw the Breakers sooner or later. And perhaps our ancestor will be able to guide us, if they have truly been around that long."

Azkadellia tried not to feel as though she was being shunted aside, but failed.

"I would make the trip faster on my own." She turned to the two men. "No offense."

The dark man scowled even deeper, and the pale one didn't seem to respond at all.

"Maybe," the Queen replied, "but I think our ancestor may give you advice you need to act on. If so, then you might need bodyguards. Wyatt Cain said that he could only do his work well if he trusted those he worked with." The two men seemed startled by the statement, but remained silent. "So if he trusts these two, then I can trust them with your life. They will work for the good of the OZ, and I can trust them with your life." The Queen descended from her throne and took Azkadellia's hands in her own. "I can't lose you again, Az, not now. But you might be the only one with the magic to stop the barriers between the Zones from falling apart. I need to know that you're safe."

Azkadellia's mouth ran dry as the Queen put the heavy silver chain with the Emerald of the Eclipse around her neck. "Mother..."

"This was once known as the Emerald City. The emerald mines yielded such stones that they studded the palace walls and the walk along the Old Road. They marked the dominion of our family, our power and our grace with magic. One by one, the emeralds need to be taken to power the city's defenses." The Queen tucked the Emerald of the Eclipse within the bodice of Azkadellia's light blue gown. "This one once sat upon the throne itself. I need you to protect it on its journey to the Gray Gale, and to present it to our ancestor. She might know what's going on with the Breakers."

And just like that, Azkadellia was no longer able to hide in her rooms and wallow in self pity and self hatred. Now she had a purpose that was vitally important to the OZ, and her history of possession could very well be the thing that allowed her to do it.

"I won't fail you, Mother," Azkadellia vowed, hand pressed over the emerald beneath her bodice. _Not again,_ she thought bleakly.

The Queen dropped a kiss along her forehead. "I know. I do love you, Azkadellia. I never gave up hope on you, even when you lost it in yourself." She turned to the two men. "Protect her, gentlemen. The future of our people may depend on it."

They nodded briskly, and turned to Azkadellia expectantly. "I... I need to get something from my rooms. I'll be right back."

No one moved by the time Azkadellia returned, spelled bag hanging from her belt. It was eerie, and something that made her want to curl up and hide. She didn't want to be important this way anymore. She wasn't supposed to be the important one. She wasn't going to be the next Queen.

But DG was, and she was trapped somewhere else. She was in trouble, and Azkadellia had to go save her. It was almost like being children again.

Only this time, Azkadellia wasn't going to fall into any ancient witch's trap.

***  
***


	5. Telling Tales

Tik Tok was a robot. He was short and squat and round, with a metal body that shone and a brilliant green medal pinned to the front of him. He tipped his metal hat in greeting and adjusted his ocular lenses, capturing their images in his memory. "Princess Ozma. Peter Pumpkinhead isn't with you."

DG could hear gears and ticking. The key in Tik Tok's back twirled ever so slowly, counting down the seconds until he had to be wound up again. If she had her hands on some tools and spare parts, she could build him an engine that would keep his gears moving without keys, without winding, without having to rely on people. Her fingers itched to hold a wrench, to be in denim coveralls and feel oil slick between her fingers. She wanted to feel machinery beneath her hands, the exhilaration of fixing something that was broken and making it all better again. Who was she kidding? She was a mechanic at heart, waitress by trade and community college student by necessity; it was a way to say she was reaching for better things that wouldn't come in the middle of Kansas.

"The Breakers were coming. Peter stayed behind to protect us if they got that far."

Metallic eyebrows twitched. "Indeed. I can go retrieve him while you move on in the next leg of the journey."

"But!"

"Whoa, there," Cain interjected, holding up a hand. "We've been running for hours straight with no rest and no explanations."

"You must travel to the riverbank. Cross it, and stay in the lunchpail field. It's safe there, and most assuredly within Lurlaine's territory. The Breakers will not advance that far," Tik Tok said decisively. "They should not advance this far, but if they reached the Hall of Mirrors, we cannot be sure of their current strength. They may have absorbed stragglers enough to give them the energy to break the protection seals on the Hall of Mirrors." He nodded at the three of them. "But the orders are yours, Princess."

Ozma worried at her lower lip, clearly unsure of what to do. She flicked her eyes uncertainly between Cain, DG and Tik Tok, unable to make up her mind. "Um..."

"How about telling us where we are now?" DG interrupted in a conciliary tone. Ozma shot her such a grateful look that DG resisted the urge to pat her head like a small child.

Tik Tok opened his belly cavity and removed a small map from within its depths. He unrolled it and let Ozma hold it out. The land mass on the parchment was a scrolling webwork of halls, rivers, lakes and streams spinning out from a central area known simply as _Dawn Sanctuary._ Tik Tok pointed at the upper left hand corner of the map, at the very edge of the drawing. "This is the Hall of Mirrors, where Ozma went to fetch you, Princess Dorothy."

"DG," DG and Cain said in unison. She didn't even glance in his direction. She should be mad at him right now, though she was too exhausted to hate properly.

"My apologies." Tik Tok tipped his hat and then turned to face the map again. The Hall of Mirrors was actually more like the Maze of Mirrors, and it looked like a puzzle from a coloring book. DG had hated those as a child, preferring things where it was more clear cut. She had always skipped over mazes, not wanting to have to think in circles. "The Hall of Mirrors here is at the boundary of the Mirror Zone. The Breakers have been pushing at the boundaries to the Zone for some time, but have never before been able to breach the spells that Queen Lurlaine put into place."

"We heard breaking glass," Cain told Tik Tok.

DG could hear the whirring of Tik Tok's gears as he pondered this. "Then it could very well be that they broke the seals on the Hall of Mirrors. Peter Pumpkinhead was positioned here," Tik Tok said, pointing to the map. The transition from the Hall of Mirrors was marked Shadow's Gate. The dark hallway was only a short span on the map, but it had felt as though they had run for hours. The Dark Hall ended at the Obsidian Border, which was their current position. "I may retrieve him if they have indeed gotten to the gates. I have no magic to steal, no soul to break. It is a safe rescue plan."

"But I can't lose anyone else," Ozma whimpered.

DG stared at Tik Tok. "You can do this, can't you? Go check him out and come back?"

"It is best if you retreat farther than the border. There are spells at the gate and the Dark Hall drains most magical energies. The Breakers would not likely wish to pass through it. Should I be incorrect, the Obsidian Border would not be safe for you." Tik Tok handed DG the map, and she promptly handed it to Cain. "Princesses, Sir. I have my duty."

"I can tell you not to go," Ozma whispered, tearing up.

DG gave Ozma an incredulous stare as Cain blew out a breath of impatience. "Tik Tok, where do you suggest we go again?"

Tik Tok pointed on the map as Cain gave it to Ozma to hold. Just beyond the Obsidian Border was the Veilshadow River, and the other side was marked Lunchpail Grove. There was a sketch of a small house near it with the label _Berrywine Farm._ "The Lunchpail Grove is the closest to our current position, if you do not wish to venture far. The Berrywines or Sherricakes would gladly give you passage, should you need further rest. They are understanding of the Zones, and wish to help Oz where they can. They can possibly direct you to Jack Pumpkinhead or even all the way to the Dawn Sanctuary."

Oz again. DG touched Tik Tok's arm. "Did you know Dorothy Gale?"

"But of course. She came to Oz many times before she chose to settle there. On one such occasion, I aided her in defeating the Nome King and the witch Mombi. She pulled Princess Ozma from the mirror that Mombi had imprisoned her in." Tik Tok patted DG's hand on his metallic arm. "A brave soul, and a generous one. She made an excellent Queen when the Scarecrow no longer wished to rule."

"Scarecrow?" DG echoed, eyebrows raised.

"Melinda Berrywine tells a better tale. I am a soldier, and not given to fantastic tales. I must move now, to recover Peter Pumpkinhead, should that be necessary. Please, wind me up."

DG immediately wound up Tik Tok as far as the key would allow. "Will this get you back here in one piece?"

"As long as strenuous combat is not necessary," Tik Tok assured her. "The Breakers won't fight me, however. I have no magic to steal. Protect yourselves, and stay safe."

They watched as Tik Tok lumbered past the Obsidian Border and disappeared into the Dark Hall. Ozma twisted her hands together helplessly. "Oh dear, this can't be good. I meant to save you, and now I'm out of protectors."

DG lofted an eyebrow. "I guess this isn't much of a rescue."

Cain carefully picked up the map from the black marble floor where Ozma had dropped it. He rerolled it and stuck it into his pocket. "Look, the river is this way. I'm sure we can cross it and be safe. Tik Tok will find us when he's done checking up on Peter."

Ozma seemed to brighten at that pronouncement. "Oh! This is wonderful. I'm hungry, and we'll be in the Lunchpail Grove. We can always pick lunchpails to eat."

"Lunchpails?" DG asked, confused.

Ozma nodded, blonde hair bobbing. "Oh, yes. The red ones only have sandwiches. The yellow ones have sandwiches and a drink. The green ones have sandwiches, a drink and a dessert. If they're almost blue, they're overdone and the sandwiches are hot."

"This place is weird," DG intoned to Cain. "And that's even considering the OZ being weird."

Cain nodded and pointed at Ozma skipping down the road with his head. "We should follow her."

"But you have the map."

"But she's the one that knows everybody. We can always get her and steer her back on course. Talk to her Princess to Princess if you have to."

DG made a face at Cain. "That's so not even funny."

With a sigh, Cain followed DG, who had run up ahead to catch Ozma by the elbow. The girl had no sense of direction at all, and was going in the opposite direction. They needed to cross the Veilshadow River in order to get to the grove, not avoid it. Avoiding the River would only lead them into the blank area of the map labeled "Black Cauldron," which Cain supposed would not be a good place for princesses in frilly ballgowns to be traipsing about in. He could only hope that someone in the Dawn Sanctuary would be able to figure out how they got to the Mirror Zone in the first place so they could return to the OZ. DG was needed there, desperately. Maybe comparing herself to Ozma's helplessness might show DG just how capable of ruling she really was.

***

It was a much shorter trek to the Gray Gale than Azkadellia remembered, likely because this time she knew where it was. Most of the journey was done in utter silence. The two Tin Men were very quiet and didn't offer any small talk. Azkadellia wasn't in the mood for it anyway. She didn't complain at the punishing pace they set, even when it became obvious that she was limping in her heels. She simply grit her teeth and kept right on walking. She heard fragments of whispers between them, and figured that the pale one was nicknamed Ghost. She couldn't figure out the other man's nickname. When the other man halted their team in the early afternoon for a lunch break, she sighed and thanked them. She sat down where she was, and stared at the ground almost dumbly. She was startled by the pale man appearing beside her; he had approached so quietly she didn't see him until he was already next to her. He took off her boot quietly and felt the bones of her ankle with a matter of factness that she didn't question.

"You've sprained it," the pale man said, voice soft and pitched low.

"I'm still able to walk," Azkadellia replied, chin lifting a notch.

"There's no point in doing this if you get hurt," he replied. He looked over at the darker man. "Della, it's definitely sprained."

Della swore under his breath, but otherwise didn't move. He was preparing lunch from the supplies he had brought with him. He didn't look up or question the assessment. "So we stop, then?" he asked finally.

"We'll have to go slower. I can splint it."

Della grunted, and looked up long enough to hand out lunch to Azkadellia and the pale man. "We'll go slower, then."

Azkadellia merely nodded, and they all fell into silence. It was less uncomfortable than earlier, but would still have unnerved lesser souls. Azkadellia was used to discomfort and silence, used to being loathed and hated.

"Are you sorry about what happened?" the pale man asked after a long moment.

"Callan!" Della hissed, eyes narrowing.

"What? Should I have asked what it was like to be possessed?" Callan asked instead, rolling his eyes.

Azkadellia hadn't moved at the first question, but now swung her eyes to face Callan. "Yes."

"Huh? Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'm sorry about what happened. And yes, you should have just asked what it was like to be possessed."

Both Tin Men fell silent, surprised. "It wouldn't have bothered you?" Callan asked after a moment, chastised.

"It doesn't matter if it does or not."

"Sure it does," Callan protested.

"My mother trusts you because Cain trusted you. If you need to know something, just ask. It doesn't matter if it bothers me if you need to know."

Callan's face contorted into something almost resembling regret. "I was just curious. I didn't _need_ to know."

"Oh," Azkadellia murmured in a small voice. She looked down at the rest of the sandwich in her hands, all appetite gone. The residue on her tongue tasted like ash.

"Forget that ass," Della said, voice rumbling deep inside his chest. "We're here to protect you and keep you safe. You're doing something that's for the good of the OZ now."

"Can you forget so easily?" she asked softly, looking up at him.

"No. But neither can you."

That was true, and Azkadellia acknowledged it with a small nod. She didn't trust her voice at the moment.

No one ate or spoke much after that. When they did resume the trek, it was at a much slower pace than before, with each man taking turns holding onto her arm for balance.

"I'm sorry," Callan murmured during his turn escorting Azkadellia. "I didn't mean to be rude. I wasn't thinking when I asked that."

"You don't need to apologize to me," Azkadellia replied, not bothering to turn her head to look at him. Her throat felt as though it was closed up, her chest was tight and her breathing was shallow and rapid. Her lost children, her lost souls, the pain of feeling herself broken to pieces. None of that would matter to anyone else. No one would care how she felt about it, how she still felt about it.

"Yes, I do," Callan returned in that same low voice. "It wasn't right that I blurted it like that. I'm a Tin Man, and I should be respectful. I'm supposed to help protect the people from pain and injury, not cause it."

"It..." Azkadellia's voice faltered. "It was a long time," she said finally, the syllables unsure and strange in her mouth. "I'm not used to being alone anymore. I'm not used to not being her."

Callan's grip on her elbow tightened for a fraction of a second. "For however long this journey is, Princess, you have us."

Now she turned to look at him. He had an earnest expression on his face, gaze reverent and direct. He _meant_ it. And if she turned to look at Della, who was no doubt listening, he would agree. They were just that kind of man.

She smiled, lips almost trembling. "Thank you."

"So you feel lonely now," he said after a long moment. "Did the two of you talk? Is that how it worked?"

"Sometimes," Azkadellia admitted. "I was scared of her at first. I couldn't stop her from doing whatever she wanted to do, and it was like I was just watching her from a distance. Like seeing things out of my own eyes and hearing things coming out of my mouth that I didn't want to say." She stopped speaking suddenly. "I've never told anyone about this. No one has asked before."

"I'm curious," Callan told her. "But you don't have to tell me if it hurts you."

"I don't know if it does," she said in a broken whisper. "I don't know how I feel about it. I'm just... empty. I'm nothing. I don't know how to feel."

"My first case," Callan said, almost abruptly. "Let me tell you about it."

"What?"

"Yep. Nasty thing, that was. Quadruple homicide, linked to the Tuszak trade. Dunno if that trickled up much, but it's this wonky drug. Fries brains, makes people even more stupid and crazy than they can be already. Four bodies, grisly. I don't even want to horrify your sensibilities with a description."

"I don't understand where..."

Callan stopped walking abruptly, and his hand at her elbow was almost painfully tight to keep her from falling. "You feel like a shell. Like some hollow thing that can't feel. Like you're separate from what you see, and you're going through the motions. An automaton, because if you had to _see,_ if you had to _feel,_ if you had to actually think about what you've done or what you're about to do, you'd run screaming in the opposite direction. You'd fall apart and there would be no coming back." He looked at her, expression strangely blank and empty. "Yes, Princess. I know what you're talking about."

Azkadellia's mouth ran dry at the sudden and almost painful feeling of recognition as it washed over her. _Yes._

Callan broke the moment by grinning like a silly loon. "That one, there, Della? Badass. Hard a rock and twice as tough. Nothing bothers that sumbitch." His eyes widened almost comically. "Oh, Princess. I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to swear in front of a lady."

She almost wanted to deny her role, but smiled instead. "I don't mind. I like the way you talk."

Callan's mouth opened then shut. Out of the corner of her eye, Azkadellia could see Della's eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline. She almost wanted to laugh at the oddity of it, but kept her lips pressed shut.

"Well, then," Callan said finally with a smile. He playfully winked at her and then changed his grip so that his arm was looped through hers. "I should talk to you more often."

Della shook his head. "Incorrigible, Callan."

"We need more comic relief," Callan replied loftily. Della snorted, but he did fall in line so that he could take Azkadellia's other elbow if necessary. Something like this would have made her extremely uncomfortable in the past, as if the people crowding in wanted to harm her. With these two, it felt comforting. They were protecting her. She felt safer with these two in the middle of an open field than she had in her prior stronghold surrounded by Longcoats. It was a strange sensation. She wasn't used to feeling safe.

"In that case, try actually being funny," Della rumbled. His voice was a bass line rolling through Azkadellia, and she could almost breathe in the sense of calm about him. He wasn't anywhere near as scary as he had looked at first.

"You wound me," Callan replied playfully. "Princess, he wounds me!"

"It seems you're tough enough to tolerate it," she said wryly, almost smiling at their antics. They were distracting her from her pain, and it was working.

"Humph. I'm the tougher one," Della rumbled. Nodding at Callan, he took over the role as primary support for Azkadellia. Callan fell back and took to observing the environment and keeping watch over the three of them again.

***

The river had been perfectly calm and still, but Ozma couldn't swim. DG was starting to get truly annoyed by all the things that Ozma _couldn't_ do, and was starting to order the other girl about. They had to walk along the river's edge to the Redwalk Bridge, which took up the entire afternoon. The river wasn't exceptionally wide, so at least crossing the bridge didn't take up much time. By the time they reached the edge of the Lunchpail Grove, DG was starving and practically snarling.

"That's not very princessly," Ozma had commented almost timidly. DG had simply snorted and yanked a blue lunchpail down from an overhanging branch. As DG tucked in ravenously, Ozma looked to Cain almost expectantly. "Sir Cain?" she asked sweetly, hands clasped neatly in front of her.

With a suppressed sigh, Cain handed over the green pail he had just plucked from the tree nearest him. Ozma beamed at him sweetly as she took the pail and sat down next to DG. She opened the pail daintily, then nibbled at the sandwich within the ripe pail. Cain shook his head at the sight of the two girls sitting next to each other and took down another lunch pail. He sat down across from them as DG finished her pail and grabbed another blue one. He almost laughed at the disgruntled look on Ozma's face when she realized that DG was eating two hot lunches at breakneck speed.

"We may make it to Berrywine Farm by nightfall," Cain began. "I think it might be safe enough to sleep in the grove if we have to, though."

Ozma wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Oh, no. That's not fitting for a princess, even if she is on a quest. There should be some kind of accommodation. We can't simply sleep on the ground."

"Think of it as camping," DG offered, trying to keep her temper in check. The girl was _useless._ Worse than useless. Ozma could do nothing and expected the world to wait on her hand and foot. It was just as well that Dorothy Gale had taken over ruling the OZ. Ozma would've lost the kingdom if she had been in charge of it.

Shaking her head, Ozma looked horrified. "But no proper princess goes camping. That's so... common. And dirty."

DG resisted the urge to cover her face in her hands and groan. She had to get away from this girl and fast. "C'mon, then, Ozma. We're going to have to hustle in order to get to the farm by nightfall."

"Hustle?"

"Move quickly."

"But that's not princessly," Ozma protested. She had barely touched her lunch, but she pushed the pail away from her.

"No one's here to see," DG insisted, resisting the urge to stamp her foot down and throw an unholy tantrum.

"And I certainly would never tell anyone you had to move quickly," Cain added, finishing off his own lunchpail. "But we really do have to hurry to make the farm by nightfall. It's really the only safe option."

Sighing, Ozma rose to her feet. "Very well, then. You set the pace, DG."

Grinning, DG grabbed Ozma's hands and broke out into a jog. Cain laughed at Ozma's squeak of dismay and set out after them. It wasn't as if they were running. It was a straightforward path through the Lunchpail Grove to Berrywine Farm, and they just reached the fence around the farmlands as it grew dark. The animals had long since been brought in from the pasture, and the lights in the farmhouse looked especially welcoming in the dark. Possibly because it was dark, Ozma ran for the farmhouse as fast as DG did without any protest.

Melinda Berrywine was a petite redheaded woman with ample curves and a half dozen children ranging from twenty-five to twelve. She likely partook of the Lunchpail Grove a little too often, and she was far too cheerful for DG's state of mind. Her late husband Harold had headed the farm, but she now ruled it with kid gloves. Her children did all the farm chores, and her eldest was due to be married in the fall. She was fully expecting the newlyweds to live on the farm and help out, and Harold, Jr. seemed to have no problem with this plan. DG felt that he was henpecked and finessed into doing whatever his mother told him, but she kept her mouth shut. His fiancee was a little wisp of a girl and vaguely sweet, and only a tick less useless than Ozma was. The girl easily fell into Melinda's well-meaning shadow, and would likely spawn a passel of babies to continue the upkeep of the farm.

Following dinner, Melinda let DG and Ozma take one of the upstairs bedrooms. Her daughters moved to share her room for the evening, and Ozma was a heavy sleeper. DG lay awake in her borrowed nightgown listening to Ozma snore. As much as dinner was heavy and damn near sedating, she couldn't sleep. This had all been a mistake, a drastic and horrible mistake, and she was paying for it now. DG hoped that getting to the Dawn Sanctuary would lead them somewhere safe so that she could figure out how to get back to the OZ. She had tried to ask Melinda and Harold, Jr. after dinner the best route, but they had never been farther than fifty miles from the farm. They didn't know anything about the Dawn Sanctuary other than it contained heavy magicks and wasn't a place ordinary folks went to. "But Princesses might. Princesses never been down our way before, though," Harold had added apologetically when he saw DG's look of dismay. "Think on it in the morning," Melinda had declared, and the matter was settled.

DG crept out of bed. She silently left the bedroom without waking Ozma. She was light on her toes as she headed to the main staircase. She was hoping the night air would be less suffocating and cloying than the air the room. Maybe after a little bit she could sleep. Maybe she could figure out how to fix her mistake. This whole thing was one mistake after another, and she had no idea what to do. But she had to do _something,_ and she couldn't just rely on strangers to fix things for her.

Cain was sitting on a bench on the front porch, staring out at the open fields. He didn't even startle when DG sat down on the bench next to him. "Can't sleep?" he asked mildly.

"No. And Ozma snores."

"Ah."

The companionable silence stretched out. "Why do I always fuck everything up?" DG asked softly, turning to him. "I screwed up everything at home, at the OZ, going back there... I can't seem to do anything right according to Ozma. But then, she annoys me, so I don't think that part's such a bad thing."

Cain turned toward her when she sighed pitifully. "You didn't screw everything up, DG. You saved the OZ from the witch. You saved your sister."

"It's my fault she got possessed in the first place."

"You were a little girl then. You didn't know."

"She told me not to let go of her hand. She told me not to run, and I did. I did nothing but get her into trouble, and that one was major. I fucked up her life, and because of that, I fucked up things in the OZ." Her lips trembled as she reached out to grasp Cain's hand. "Why don't you hate me? I screwed up your family."

"It's not your fault," Cain told her firmly. "You can't take on the blame for everything."

DG stood and moved to stand in front of him. Cain could clearly see the outline of her body through the thin material of the nightgown, which was nothing but white cotton and lace trim. It was plain, a farmer's nightgown, but Cain shifted in his seat uncomfortably. She wasn't wearing anything beneath it, and he remembered only too well the way she felt beneath him on the bed in her room.

"I need to make up for what I did, but I don't know how." She touched his face, fingertips ghosting across the stubble on his jaw. "I love you, Wyatt. You don't blame me for what I did, and I don't know why you don't. I still love you. Isn't it horrible of me, that I'm glad to have met you? That I'm glad that I can pretend we have a future?"

Cain closed his hand over hers, eyes locked onto her pained ones. "Don't torture yourself this way, DG."

"You lost your family because of me. You lost your _life_ because of me. And all I can think of is how you move and that I want you so much right now it hurts." Her laughter was bitter. "Aren't I a selfish bitch?"

He tightened his hand around hers almost painfully. "Don't say that. You were a _child._ You didn't know what happened, and the witch had taken advantage of you. It's not your fault, not the way you think." Cain reached out and touched her face gently. "You helped to save the OZ. You tried to save me even before you knew what was going on. That's not someone selfish."

DG pulled her hands away from him. "But I am. And I can be." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I fucked everything up, even if you're too nice to say so. Az is broken because of me. Mother has no magic because of me. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and an entire country thinks I can save it." DG pressed her hands to her mouth and choked back a sob. "I can't do this. I don't know why everyone thinks I can."

Cain pulled her down into his lap and cradled her in his arms. "Because you can if you put your mind to it. You can if you love the OZ. You do, even just a little."

DG shook her head and adjusted her position so that she was straddling Cain on the bench. "Not the OZ. You."

Only thin cotton separated them. The borrowed nightgown hid nothing and was hiked up around her waist as she straddled him. Cain was in his undershirt and pants, and those pants were the only thing keeping him from driving up into her waiting body. He pressed his eyes closed and leaned his head back. "I'm not anyone special."

"Yes, you are," DG whispered, curling her body around his. She shut her eyes as she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. "You're special. It hurt me that you don't think so, that you never wrote back or tried to visit. I was alone in that awful palace. You were gone, Raw was gone, Glitch was different and Az... Just thinking of how you would respond to things kept me sane. I tried to keep it together for you. I wanted to be someone you could be proud of. But I can't even do that right."

"DG, look at me."

Reluctantly, she pulled back and looked at him, sniffling. "Wyatt?"

"You are every inch the princess you don't think you are." He traced the edge of her bottom lip. "I stayed away because I'm no good for you. You're a Crown Princess. I'm just a tin man. We couldn't fit in the same world. I'm trying to do right by you."

"Then don't," DG whispered, cupping his face in her hands. "It's worse without you. It's worse thinking I'm alone."

"DG, our stations are too different. It isn't right to tie you down that way."

Her lips quirked. "I think I might like being tied down by you." She dropped her hands from his face to his belt. She slowly undid it, eyes never leaving his face. "I don't want those stuffed shirts and assholes that think they know what's best for me while they make fun of me. I don't want the stupidity of that social scene. I _hated_ that ball and every pompous, two-faced bastard in it. I wanted you, Wyatt. I wanted to see you again."

"I can't promise you anything," he told her, hands moving up to cradle the back of her head. "I have nothing to give you."

"You have yourself," DG whispered, voice cracking. "It's all I want of you."

He pulled her head down to his, seizing her mouth in a kiss. DG opened his pants and freed his burgeoning erection. She stroked him as she kissed his mouth ravenously. She grabbed one of his hands from the back of her head and dragged down to the apex of her thighs in a not-so-subtle hint. Cain nearly laughed in the midst of their kiss. He slid his fingertips across her damp slit as he adjusted his grip on her. He moved so that his hand cupped the nape of her neck, holding her in place. He stroked her clit almost with the same rhythm that she dragged the heel of her palm across the head of his cock. "You're going to drive me crazy," he moaned when they broke the kiss to come up for air. "You're going to kill me."

"God, no," she protested, arching her back with pleasure. "I got a list of things I want to do to you. _Oh!_ Right there, yes, yes, like that," she gasped. "And don't think there's not a list of things I want you to do to me."

"A list?" Cain asked, amused. Her strokes were more erratic now, and her breath came in fractured gasps as she neared her peak. "A long list?"

"Really long," DG agreed. "Eons to go through it." She made a keening noise, trying her best to muffle it by biting her lip. "Ohmigod, _that."_

Cain chuckled and sped up his fingers. "Liked that, did you?" She was wet, and he could smell her arousal. Cain closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. His own cock twitched in anticipation of her, but he didn't want to start yet. She made him feel like a young schoolboy all over again, and it would be damn embarassing to come as soon as she sank down on top of him.

"Wyatt," she whimpered, curling around him. "Make me come," she panted in his ear, fist tightening around his cock erratically. "I'm so close," she gasped. "Please, make me come."

Cain took her earlobe between his lips as he slid a finger inside her. His thumb rocked against her swollen clit in the same rhythm, and DG nearly screamed as she came. Her entire body stiffened, then she collapsed against him, panting. "Better?"

"Only a little," DG gasped after a moment. She leered at him as she pushed herself up to a sitting position over him. She held his cock steady as she sank down on top of him, sighing happily at the feel of him inside her. "Ah. That feels better now."

He laughed softly at her satisfied expression. He and Adora had been barely more than children themselves when they married, and Adora had never really gotten the hang of the physical aspect of their marriage. She tried, bless her, but she just didn't seem to enjoy sex. DG not only enjoyed it, but she wanted to have fun with it. There was a world of difference between the two women, yet Cain felt just as protective and protected with them. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as DG moved, rocking her hips in a steady rhythm. He couldn't give her up, even for her own sake. Somehow it figured that this would be how he realized it. It figured, since everything else about their relationship had been awkward and backward and unusual. Not boring, at least. DG was anything but boring, and there was a vitality about her that was captivating.

Cain caught the hair at the nape of her neck in his fist and brought her mouth down to his for another kiss. Damn propriety. They'd figure something out.

DG sighed happily when she curled up around him, feeling his arms around her and his cock inside her. This made her happy. Not the social whirl and the pretentious posers in a glittering ballroom, not a world full of pretenders. Cain was real, honest to a fault and substantial in a way that was hard fo her to explain. He grounded her. He made her feel whole and secure, as if she belonged in the OZ. The Queen tried, but it wasn't the same. Azkadellia tried, but their relationship was strained and filled with guilt and regret. Her relationship with Cain, whatever it was, felt as though it was the only true thing she had in the entire OZ. He was the one person that could anchor her there.

"I do love you," she whispered, closing her eyes as she came again. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, riding the wave of pleasure. He tightened his hold on her, grunting as he was close to orgasm himself. She didn't expect an answer. She didn't need one.

"I can't keep doing this and still let you go," he murmured in her ear when he could speak again.

"Then don't give me up," DG whispered back. "If I'm a Crown Princess, I'll decree you to be my husband."

Cain nearly choked. "What?"

"I don't want anyone else. They can shove whoever they like at me, but it's not going to work. I won't do it. I won't marry anyone else." She grinned at him. "So just toss those ideas at letting go when we get back. I'm going to convince you to stay."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"With really, really, really hot sex."

Cain couldn't help it. He laughed, tipping his head back with the sheer absurdity of it. She was serious, he could tell, but it was so ridiculous and so _DG_ that he couldn't help but laugh.

DG pushed herself off of him with a huff and let the borrowed nightgown tumble down her hips. "You suck sometimes, you know that? You ruined a perfectly good proposal, there."

"That was a proposal? I don't think so."

DG snorted. "What? You want wine and roses? Candlelit dinners or something like that?"

Cain looked at her pointedly. "I'm supposed to be the one to propose if that's going to happen."

"When," DG promised gravely. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Don't resist me. I have ways. And magic. And did I mention the really hot sex?"

Cain couldn't help but smile at her. He could tell she was poking fun at him, even if she didn't smile the same way she usually did. "I believe you called it really, really, really hot sex."

"There you go. I rest my case. We work together." DG grabbed his hand impulsively and kissed his knuckles. "You're the only one I want, Cain. So if you're serious about sending me back to the OZ, then it's got to be a package deal. You come with me and stay with me."

His smile never faltered. "I'll think about it."

She squeezed his hand, then dropped it. "I'll see you in the morning. We'll figure out what our next step is then."

Cain watched her sneak back into the farmhouse with a faint smile on his face. Whatever it was worth, life with DG was never boring. He didn't think she really knew what she wanted, and she certainly didn't understand how socially disastrous it could be to marry a commoner. She would push, though. She would push until he gave in and agreed with whatever she said.

And heaven help him, but he wanted to. He really, really wanted to.

Cain sighed and looked over the farmland. Once upon a time all he wanted was a gentle wife and a few children on land of his own. Now he had an adult son training to be a tin man, a Crown Princess trying to seduce him into staying with her and annuals of torture haunting his nightmares. DG was the brightest thing to happen to him in annuals, and he wasn't sure if it was even in his best interest to take her up on her naive offer. He wanted to, even if he didn't think it was practical.

He got up and rearranged his clothing. He would worry about it later. For now, he had to go to sleep.

***  
***


	6. Night Terrors And Rescue

Because of Azkadellia's ankle, progress was slowed. They weren't anywhere near the forest's edge by nightfall, and Azkadellia almost wished they had been able to take the roads to the forest. The family crypts were isolated for a reason, and that was to make it difficult for random magic users to accost the entrance. Unfortunately, that also made it that much harder for Azkadellia to get there in a timely manner to speak with the Gray Gale.

She had miniaturized tents in her spelled bag, which came in handy. The two tin men seemed awed by the casual display of arcane magics, but didn't make a great show of it. Azkadellia appreciated that. She felt strange enough as it was.

Sleep overtook her quickly. She was exhausted, a bone deep weariness she hadn't felt in a long time. She was looking in a mirror, brushing her hair. She was an adult, but dressed in one of her favorite blue dresses from when she was twelve and traipsing about Fenaqua with DG. Her hair fell in long waves down her back, sleek and smooth, glistening like spun silk strands. Gnarled hands gripped the brush, however. They weren't her hands, not as an adult or a child, not as an awkward gangling Sorceress in between. They were the witch's hands, gnarled and knuckly, hairs on the backs of her fingers. The nails were more like curled horn, splintered and cracked at the edges, blackened with magic powders. Azkadellia looked back in the mirror, and didn't see her face. It was the witch's, smiling at her with a rictus grin. "Did you think I was truly gone, my dear? We're all we have. Your sister's dead, as are mine. We're all we've got in the world. I'm the only one that knows you, and I'm the only one that can help you. You remember, don't you? She left you. She left you alone with me and went crying to Mummy. You're all mine, my dear. We're all we've got."

"No," Azkadellia murmured to the mirror, horrified. She could see the skin of her chest, the black tattoos rising up out of her skin. Her demon children, her lost demon children, pushing out of her skin, pushing and straining and trying to get free of her. _Let me go, Mother. Let me fly. I can fly now, Mother. Let me_ fly.

The witch screamed, and the demons burst free of her skin in a shower of blood and pain and _misery._ They shrieked with joy as Azkadellia fell to the floor, blood pooling around her. _Mother, Mother. Watch us grow. Watch us suckle on your blood and feast on your flesh. A thousand plagues upon the world born on this day, a thousand miseries to befall the land._

"NO!" Azkadellia shrieked, trying to reach out and catch the demon children. They danced just outside her reach, laughing and taunting her. She couldn't reach them, couldn't hold them. Her chest was flayed open to the bone, and the witch sat in the mirror behind her, calmly watching her fall to pieces. "Help me!" she shrieked at the mirror. She didn't know who could possibly hear her. "For the love of all that's holy, help me!"

"But I'm not holy, my dear," the witch told her calmly. Her broken, blackened teeth sparkled in the mirror's light. "And neither are you."

Azkadellia's chest shattered, blood splattering everywhere. The witch calmly wiped it from her face and licked it from her fingers. "You taste like defeat," she told Azkadellia, who was collapsing to the ground. "You taste like pain and loss and _failure._ You should have known better than to rely on that whelp of a girl. She _left you,_ abandoned you to me, and you still think the world of that selfish little brat. I'm all you have. I'm all you'll ever have. Without me you're alone. Without me you're nothing. _Nothing!"_

Sobbing, Azkadellia could only twist and try to hold her chest together. Blood spilled out, fountaining down the tattered remains of her blue dress, spilling across the carpet in a crimson flood. She could see a white mist in it, tried to breathe it in. She had to save her soul. She had to save whatever was left of herself.

The witch stepped from the mirror, and the glass shattered noiselessly behind her. She stepped in the pool of blood, and lifted her hands high to the sky. "Give me everything, Azkadellia. Give me what I want. I'm all you'll ever have. Without me you're alone."

She knew it was true, and watched as the witch inhaled her essence, drinking in her spirit. Her soul was gone, devoured whole.

It was to be expected, all she deserved.

Azkadellia was shaken awake, sobbing and twisting in her blankets. She could hear the desperate moans falling from her lips as if far away, as if it was someone else crying miserably. It didn't register as her own tears, her own misery.

"Princess," Della said, his voice a bass rumble through her spine. "Wake up. It's a nightmare. It's only a nightmare."

Azkadellia shook her head, unable to stop the silent fall of tears. She gasped for breath, but could still feel the sting of her demon children breaking through. She dug her fists into the ribs above her breasts, but couldn't shake the feeling. She was trembling with fear, and couldn't get past the nightmare's grip.

"You have this nightmare often, then," he observed, sitting beside her. She nodded, unable to meet his eyes, unable to stop crying. Della pulled her against him, holding her tightly when she struggled against him out of shame. "Tell me about it."

She felt small and helpless next to him, the edges of the dream still clinging to her consciousness. "It hurts," she whimpered, sniffling. "It still hurts."

Della's grip on her shoulders loosened. "Tell me what happened," he said. He stroked the back of her head gently. "Why does it hurt?"

His voice rolled through her, comforting her. The last of the dream seemed to slip away from her. Azkadellia rubbed at her eyes like a small child and looked up at him. His usually stern face was contorted with emotion. It wasn't pity, not quite. He was trying to understand, trying to help. He was _listening,_ and it was a completely alien feeling.

"They were my children," Azkadellia began in a small voice, not sure why she was explaining it. "The creatures, the demons... She wants me to call them demons, but they were my children. I could feel them, whatever they feeling. I knew their emotions and their pain and their joys and their sorrows. I could feel them, same as I felt myself, and she wants me to forget they ever existed."

Della remained silent for a moment, watching fresh tears fall. "The creatures? The ones that flew and terrorized villages?"

Azkadellia nodded miserably. "But they were kind to me. They were with me. They didn't leave me alone." To her abject horror, she broke out in fresh tears. She covered her face with her hands, unable to tolerate her own sobs.

Della pulled her back into his lap, cradling her against his chest. His heart beat with a strong and steady rhythm, calming her down. Azkadellia felt out of sorts, living chaos trapped within a fragile skin. It felt as if she would burst at any moment. "You're with us now, you know," he said finally. He stroked her hair gently, rhythmically. He tucked his chin on top her head as he did so, and gave a rumbling sigh. "I don't understand them. The creatures. Your children."

She sniffled and buried her face in his chest. "They're all gone now. They're dead."

"And that's why it hurts?" Azkadellia nodded. "You can't mourn them properly. No one else cares that they're dead, but they're your children."

Sniffling, Azkadellia nodded again. She didn't trust her voice, and could only hope that her tears didn't scald him. He wasn't wearing anything more than a thin shirt against the nighttime chill.

"Tell me about them, then, Princess. What were they like?"

Almost against her will, she found herself describing her lost demon children. They had loved her unconditionally, regardless of what face she wore. They had strove to make her happy, to please her and see her smile. She had cared deeply for them, and when they left her she had grieved in silence. No one else would have understood it, cradling their lives within her skin, feeling their pulses beat. It had been like stab wounds when they were killed, a part of her ripped to shreds and ground into dust.

Della held her long after she had finished, long after the tears had dried. Azkadellia dozed off several times in the night, startling awake at random loud noises in the area. Della hadn't moved, hadn't dropped his cradling arms. His heartbeat was steady and sure, a metronome marking time. The sound of it beneath her ear was comforting. For the first time since the eclipse, she fell asleep and slept deeply. There were no further dreams that night.

***

No one in the Berrywine household seemed to realize that a tryst had taken place right in front of their home. Cain wasn't sure if he should feel ashamed of himself for deceiving the family, but DG certainly seemed much happier in the morning. Melinda could read maps very well, and helped Cain plot a relatively safe course to the Dawn Sanctuary. Relatively, as she hadn't ever wandered more than fifty miles from the farm, and could only rely on hearsay for the rest of the way. Still, it was better than nothing. It occupied the entire morning, and Cain was in a rush to leave for the Dawn Sanctuary.

Ozma was rather grumpy, though she didn't say a single negative word to the hostess. Her blonde curls didn't quite fall into the easy spirals they had the night before, and it looked as though she had a rough night. Cain knew from DG's complaint the night before that the princess had been a fairly deep sleeper. He wondered if she was really as delicate as all that, or if she was the type of princess that needed help in the morning to get her morning ablutions done. He would suppose it was the latter.

"I asked Melinda about the lunch pails," DG began as they left the farm's borders. "She said they were originally in Oz."

Ozma nodded, allowing herself to be pulled out of her sulky mood. "There was originally a whole forest. I took some branches with me to begin a grove here. I don't think anyone took care of them, and they fell into ruin when the drought began."

"Drought?"

"There was a great drought maybe four or five generations after Dorothy. They're the ones that began changing Emerald City. The waters were diverted, so the rivers didn't flow through it. Some of the fields were saved, but some of them withered and died."   
DG tried to remember the OZ's geography. "But there's Fenaqua. It had plenty of water when I was a child."

"It was thousands of years ago in your time," Ozma told her, her tone clearly implying that DG was dim for not realizing it. "Of course the waters came back."

"So what else changed over the years?" Cain asked smoothly, deflecting DG's growing annoyance with the blonde.

Ozma seemed to perk up a bit more. She went into elaborate and almost painful detail about the way Fenaqua had changed throughout the centuries. DG supposed it was something she should know if she was going to rule the OZ, but she was fairly certain she didn't need to know which ancestor built which version of the summer palace or how many servants it took to clean the windows properly. Those details were nothing but background noise. DG caught Cain's hand in hers as Ozma walked a little ahead of them, still caught up in her monologue. She smiled at Cain and gave his hand a squeeze.

"It should be an easy walk to Marratuck Park," Cain murmured at her, careful not to catch Ozma's attention. "You can be nice to her until then."

"She doesn't like walking, though," DG replied. "It's not princessly or some shit like that," she added, deliberately throwing in the expletive.

Cain squeezed her hand, quieting her. She was a rebellious thing, not liking to be hemmed in this way. In that respect, he understood why ruling the OZ wouldn't appeal to her. After seeing Ozma, however, Cain could see DG changing her mind. If she was the only hope the OZ had of proper rule, she was going to do a good job. Being anything like Ozma wouldn't do the people of the OZ any favors.

Cain quietly hoped that she would come to her senses about an alliance with him. He was a tin man, not aristocracy. She would be limiting the potential power base for the OZ, and opening herself up to ridicule. DG wouldn't hear of letting him go, and he didn't necessarily want to leave her either. He wanted what was best for her. If that included a future that he wasn't part of, he would bow out and let her go. It would rip him to shreds inside, but he knew how to function that way. He knew how to walk and talk and act as if he had a heart beating inside his chest when it was some kind of broken thing. He knew how to do that very well.

He just didn't think DG did.

***

Birds were singing. That was strange; there hadn't been birds in Central City for generations. Azkadellia opened her eyes and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Sometime during the night, after she had fallen asleep, Della had laid her back onto her cot and covered her with blankets. She stretched, feeling almost rested for the first time in months. Azkadellia dressed herself quickly and brushed her hair out so that she was somewhat presentable. It was a little bit painful to hobble to the campfire, but Della had a roaring fire going and the two men were cooking something for breakfast that looked suspiciously like rabbit and eggs.

"Good morning, Princess," Callan said, his cheerful voice almost like a bird's chirp. Della nodded at her and grunted something that might have been a greeting.

If he wasn't going to mention the nightmare, she wasn't, either. "Good morning. Do you think we'll make it to the forest today?"

"Maybe by nightfall," Callan guessed. "We shouldn't go faster than that, with your ankle. I think we pushed too far yesterday."

"It's not that bad," Azkadellia protested, "and we really do need to get to the Gray Gale."

"You also need to be there in one piece," Della reminded her pointedly. "It can wait another day if that's what it takes."

_The Queen wanted this done as soon as possible,_ Azkadellia wanted to say. _She's going to be angry if it's not taken care of._

"I'll need to take a look at your ankle," Callan said, finishing off his breakfast. For such a slight figure, he ate as much as any robust man would. It was rather startling for Azkadellia to watch, though he was much stronger than he looked. She nodded, and put aside her plate. "Oh, not right this second, Princess. Finish up. You'll need your energy to heal and for the walk ahead."

It was such a change to be looked after that Azkadellia didn't know how to reply. Their curtesy made her mother's casual cruelty feel that much sharper.

"Ah, cheer up," Callan said, getting up and clearing his breakfast plate.

Della was already packaging the leftovers for later. They moved with spare efficiency, which told her just how often they had worked together before this mission. They moved the way a team did, and seemed to understand each other fairly well. Seeing it almost hurt Azkadellia physically; she had never really been close with anyone but DG. And she had killed her sister as soon as she was possessed, so that hardly counted. As adult they certainly didn't know each other well anymore. She was alone, truly alone, and there was no one that she knew nearly as well anymore.

Callan held his hand out so Azkadellia could use it to pull herself up. "Here we go, Princess. Another day's walking until we reach the forest's edge."

"But this needs to be cleaned up..." she protested weakly.

"Della's good at that kind of thing. I'm the messy one," Callan replied with a wink. He helped haul Azkadellia to her feet, and she collided bodily with him. He was a solid mass of a man, even if he looked like the Ghost he was nicknamed. "Ooph. Sorry 'bout that. Sometimes I forget how fragile you are. You don't seem like it most of the time."

It was a compliment, even if he didn't realize it. Azkadellia didn't want to be weak. Weak people ran. Weak people succumbed. Weak people were possessed and made to move about like a puppet on strings. She was never going to be that kind of person again if she could help it.

True to Callan's word, Della quickly cleaned up behind Azkadellia. She easily shrunk the camping equipment and tucked back into the bag at her waist. Somehow the time passed quickly on their walk. Azkadellia couldn't remember how the conversation went all the places it wound up going, but before she knew it she knew more about both her protectors and they knew personal things about her that she had never told anyone. She knew how they felt being Tin Men (third generation in Della's case), dealing with difficult cases and working with Cain, who was a legend in their department. She knew that Della was the eldest of three and Callan was the youngest of four. They had been friends in training and the department for five years before they were assigned to the same team nearly seven years ago. Azkadellia explained about her loneliness and the way it felt to have peoples' gazes slide over her as if she no longer existed. She knew what it was like to be the stuff of nightmares. She told them what it was like to wander through the palace in Central City in the middle of the night, the way the city looked from the highest spires just before dawn. She told them about the dungeons, the machines, the viewer that she had used to see visions that her magic wouldn't allow her to see. She talked about magic, the way it felt when it flowed through her like water in a field, the way it sometimes seemed to build up inside of her until she was ready to burst from the strain of containing it. She talked about what it was like knowing the Old Ways, knowing that no one else alive knew these things and that it scared her mother senseless. Azkadellia was a _Practitioner,_ and it was something difficult to explain to nonmagic people. She didn't have friends, didn't have people to talk to. She knew the shadows and the shapes of things in the dark, the weight of words unspoken and way fear seemed to electrify people around her.

It was the most bizarre and exhilarating conversation Azkadellia had ever had in her life.

They settled down for lunch relatively late in the afternoon. Azkadellia hadn't even thought to mention when she first started feeling hungry until Callan mentioned it. While he helped Azkadellia settle down into a makeshift camp, Della headed out to the river he had spied during their trip. He planned to fish for their lunch while Callan checked on her ankle.

"You didn't even explain the plan," Azkadellia commented as Callan unwrapped her ankle.

Callan shrugged. "I'm better at first aid." He felt Azkadellia's ankle, making note of when she hissed in pain. "Still tender, isn't it, Princess?"

Somehow, hearing her title in his mouth made it seem almost like a pet name. Azkadellia's lips parted slightly. "When you touch it like that, certainly."

His lips quirked and he grinned. "Oh, there's all kinds of touch, Princess. Shall I show you?"

Azkadellia's mouth went dry. He wasn't _flirting_ with her, was he? No one wanted her that way. She was too scary and odd for that kind of thing.

Callan traced the edge of her instep and began to palpate her ankle again. This time his touch was much more gentle, more of a caress than an assessing kind of touch. His fingertips ghosted across her skin, tracing along the back of her calf. He noted her parted lips, the hitching breath and the incredulous look on her face, as if she couldn't believe this was happening. He couldn't believe he was actually doing it either, or that she was letting him. Or that he wanted to. While he didn't know her very long, he felt as though he did. His eyes never left Azkadellia's face as he traced the shape of her calf, feeling the silk of her stocking over the firm muscle.

"That's... That's not my ankle," Azkadellia said dumbly, voice slightly hoarse.

Callan reached the back of her knee, and traced the back of the joint. "Nope. Not at all. I like other body parts much better than ankles, I must say." His smile was easy and lit up his face. Feeling rather bold, he made his way over the knee and onto her thigh.

Azkadellia gasped and stumbled backward, away from Callan's touch. "You shouldn't... That's not right... You shouldn't!" she sputtered.

Callan looked at her, eyebrows arched and head tilted sideways. "Why not? You seemed to like it. Isn't that all that matters?"

She made some kind of sputtering sound, mouth opening and closing in her confusion. "It isn't proper," she said finally, aware of how lame and silly she sounded.

He shrugged easily and stood up. "Ah, well. If it's proper you want, I won't do that again." He helped her back into her seat and rewrapped her ankle. "We need to slow down, though. Seriously, your ankle is a lot more swollen than I'd like."

Worried, Azkadellia looked across the empty field. The forest's edge looked close enough, but the distance was much farther than it looked. Not to mention that sometimes the trees there had a tendency of wandering about. "This is taking longer than it should. The Queen will be worried."

Callan grasped her leg just above her ankle. Azkadellia swung around to face him, not sure if she should hex him or not. "You could damage your ankle if you don't decrease the amount of stress on it. I'm not skilled enough to know if damage will be permanent or not."

Azkadellia dropped her gaze from his. "It wouldn't matter if it was permanent," she muttered, just above her breath.

He ventured a caress along her calf again. "It matters to me."

She looked up, face twisted in confusion and almost despair. "Why?"

Callan shrugged. "Does everything need to have a reason?"

"Yes."

"My world doesn't always work that way, Princess." He leaned forward, almost looming over her reclining form. Azkadellia's eyes widened, and she nearly caught his shirt in her hands to try to halt his advance on her. "My world isn't full of reason and absolutes. I live in a world of gray, in confusion and half truths." His touch along the back of her knee firmed. "I don't get many things in my life that make sense or follow strict propriety. I don't generally expect much," he added as he ghosted his fingertips above her knee again.

Azkadellia shivered under his intense gaze. "I don't think I could live like that anymore."

He shook his head almost sadly. "Princess, we all live like that. It's just how things are."

His fingers slid across the inside of her thigh, but didn't quite reach the edge of her stocking. Azkadellia jerked away from his touch, a flush darkening her cheeks. She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't say anything. She didn't know what she felt about his touch, other than she kind of liked it, and didn't know if she should encourage such a thing. Wanting led to bad things. Wanting led to pain. Wanting only hurt her in the end, and it wasn't worth wanting anything anymore.

Della returned soon after. He quickly gutted and cleaned the fish, then roasted them over a fire. Azkadellia looked at his hands, the swift efficiency in them, and wondered how he had learned half of the things he knew. Callan was much chattier, though sometimes she wondered if he really knew even half of what he claimed. Della was the quiet one, the still presence that held them up. He definitely knew more than what he was telling, and was definitely sure of himself. She liked them both, but she was starting to wonder just how much.

The afternoon progress was much slower. They weren't far from the forest's edge when the suns slipped beneath the horizon. They pushed forward to the forest's edge using floating light orbs that Azkadellia conjured. Finally, Della felt that they had come far enough. The night was already upon them, and the two tin men quickly set up camp. Dinner was the sparse leftovers from the day, and Azkadellia retreated to her tent. Callan took first watch as he did the night before, and Della settled in to sleep to take the second watch.

Azkadellia dreamed, and it was torture.

"You know you shouldn't want anything," the witch told her. Her back was to Azkadellia, and she was bent over a work table. It looked like something down in the dungeons of the castle, something in one of the rooms the witch had appropriated for the experiments that should never meet the light of day.

Azkadellia stepped forward boldly. "You don't hold sway over me anymore. I'm not a child. I'm free of you."

The witch chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, dear. Children these days."

Azkadellia looked down, and she was in her twelve year old body. She was dressed in her favorite blue dress, with the matching silk slippers. Only, the tattoos were on her chest, each beating in time with her own heartbeat. _My children,_ she thought wildly. _Why are they back? I thought they were all dead._

The witch stood in front of Azkadellia with a speed born of dreams. "You know about the children," the witch said, voice quiet and still. It was mesmerizing, and Azkadellia could feel herself falling under the witch's spell all over again. The witch placed her palm on Azkadellia's now-adult chest. "These are my children. Mine. They're not yours, and you have no right to mourn any of them."

The witch curled her fingers around the tattoos, gouging into Azkadellia's chest. She pulled with surprising force, ripping them out of her. As the flesh was pulled from her bones, Azkadellia could see them revert to their monstrous forms, could see their gleaming teeth. Sharp, multiple rows, too sharp. Her chest was bared to the bone, and she could see bits through her ribs pulse and move in time with her breath.

"They're hungry," the witch said in her ear. Her nails were razor sharp talons, and she trailed them down Azkadellia's belly, now somehow swollen and full. "They'll have more than enough to feast on with you. They'll eat up your magic and be that much more useful to me."

Azkadellia couldn't even scream as her intestines tumbled down from her split abdomen. She was falling, hitting the floor with her knees. That pain didn't even register. Everything _burned,_ and she could see her insides steam as they burst forth. She lifted her eyes to the witch in silent supplication, questioning her. "Why? Haven't I been a good host?"

The witch laughed as the monstrous children came down from their aerial perches to feast on Azkadellia. "I have an even better one, now." The witch swept her arm toward the table in a grand gesture, and Azkadellia looked over in horror.

Callan and Della, their forms twisted together and patched with thick black thread, lay on the work table. Both of their faces were contorted in pain and horror, their heads and arms stitched onto a clay torso. There were no legs, but thick, leathery black wings were folded neatly beneath the torso.

"They can't help you now," the witch hissed in her ear. "There's no one to protect you now. You belong to me, now and forever, to do with what I will."

Azkadellia could only scream helplessly as she was devoured from the inside out.

Della shook her awake, and Azkadellia took in air in great gulps. She couldn't even hear what he was saying until she had calmed down. She looked up at him, mouth still open, panting for breath. "What?" she finally gasped.

"You were screaming again."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

He frowned at her nonsensical reply and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Princess. Last night you had a nightmare about those children. You said you had it often. Did you mean to tell me you have them every night?"

Azkadellia's lips trembled. "I'll be all right," she said in a small voice, not meeting his eyes. "I'll be all right. You don't have to worry about me."

"You're my responsibility," he said simply, the words sighing out of him. "Even if you weren't, I'd still be concerned. How long has it been going on?"

"Since the eclipse," she said softly. "Maybe before. I didn't always know what was real before."

"Months," Della rumbled, and Azkadellia could only nod dumbly. "For months you've had nightmares that left you screaming. Didn't anyone else ever notice?"

"Deeg, maybe," Azkadellia replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe."

Della closed his eyes and shut them tight. He opened them and released his grip on her shoulders. "You didn't tell anyone about them, did you?"

"They can't worry about me," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "Most don't."

"You're not the Sorceress," Della reminded her.

"I was for annuals."

"Not anymore."

Azkadellia moved away from him. "I was the Sorceress. I knew everything she knew. I still do. I still remember. Everyone else is afraid of me."

"I know better."

She wanted to curl up and cry, but wouldn't let herself. It had to be pity on his face, and she wanted to strike it off. "You should run. I poison everything I touch."

"I've seen worse. I've lived worse." He patted the cot next to him. "Princess, come here."

"I shouldn't." Azkadellia shook her head. "We shouldn't be alone together. It isn't right."

"Then you should have had an attendant. I'm surprised you don't have one, actually. How can you get dressed in those fancy gowns by yourself?"

"I always did," she replied, confused by the apparent change in topic. "The witch didn't trust anyone and neither did I. I still don't."

It explained so much, and Della nodded to himself. "We've already been alone. Last night, after that nightmare. It seemed to help. You didn't scream again for the rest of my shift."

"It's just... I didn't... It doesn't matter," she finished lamely, turning away.

Della reached out and grasped her hand with his. He tugged, urging her to sit next to him again. "You still feel guilty for what happened, even if there's no blame left for you. It isn't your fault about what happened to the OZ. It's not your fault it all came down to this."

"I should have fought harder," Azkadellia replied, shaking her head. "I didn't fight enough. I deserved this. I haven't paid enough yet."

Della shook his head. He tugged on her hand, and this time she reluctantly came to sit next to him. "You don't like being touched, do you?"

There was a flush across her cheeks, but she couldn't meet his eyes. "It's not that..."

He stroked her bare arm gently, aware of the low neckline to the thin nightgown. He was here to protect her, he reminded himself. He shouldn't ogle or suggest anything, but simply protect her. It didn't hurt if he understood her more, however. Then he could know what to look out for, right?

Azkadellia shivered under his touch, her eyes falling shut. "The two of you do this. No one else has."

"What do you mean?"

"Touch me. Treat me like I'm normal, like nothing happened."

"That's not it," Della corrected her gently. "We know exactly what happened. But we also know that you were a helpless pawn just as everyone else was. We know that there are gradations to evil, and we know that you aren't it."

She swung her eyes to look at him in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

"Because we work with murderers and thieves and the true underbelly of Center City. You're nothing like them. You're better than they are."

"Not by much, if anything," Azkadellia protested.

Della cupped her face in his palm, and her lips parted in surprise. "You deserve more than what you're getting, Princess. You've suffered enough. You deserve a measure of peace. It's been fifteen annuals. You've paid enough."

Tears coming to her eyes, Azkadellia shook her head. "It's not like that, really it isn't."

He traced the edge of her bottom lip with his thumb. It was pushing the edge of propriety, if not completely blowing past it. He shouldn't be in her tent, alone with her when she was clad in a thin nightgown. But it was obvious that the Queen wasn't concerned about her safety in social circles, only physical safety. Azkadellia was already considered damaged goods on the marriage mart, so it probably didn't matter that she was alone with two men.

"Why are you touching me like that?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.

"I appreciate a beautiful form," Della admitted, still touching her bottom lip. "I probably shouldn't do this, but I can't help it." He shrugged and smiled at her. "If it bothers you, I'll stop."

Azkadellia licked her lips, briefly coming into contact with the edge of his thumb. The contact sent a shiver through her. "I don't know if it bothers me or not," she admitted.

"Ah... You haven't kissed anyone?"

"Not like that. Just... taking lives."

"Do you want to try it?" Della asked on impulse. He could have winced at the delivery, at how desperate he must look to her.

She didn't seem to find him desperate at all. She looked at him in wonder. "You would really... It doesn't bother _you?"_

Della shook his head and smiled at her. "No hardship for me, Princess." He traced the edge of her parted lips with the ball of his thumb. "I could teach you, if you like."

Dazed, Azkadellia could only nod. Hands in her lap, she waited primly as he approached her and gently pressed his lips to hers, his hand moving down to the side of her neck. She pulled back first after a few seconds, head cocked to the side as she looked at him inquisitively. Her lips felt as though she had just been shocked, even if nothing miraculous seemed to actually be happening. "Is that it?"

Laughing, Della pulled her into his lap. She allowed him to do so, confused, and settled against him when his arms encircled her. She felt safe with him, warm within his embrace. He wasn't making fun of her, she knew. He actually respected her, which was a change. "Ah, Princess. That's barely even a real kiss."

"It wasn't a real kiss?" she asked incredulously.

He checked her legs on either side of him. He was suddenly aware of how thin her silk gown was, how thin his uniform fabric was. "If your toes don't curl, it's not a real kiss."

"Really?" Azkadellia asked. "I hadn't heard that one."

"Then you still need to know what a real kiss is like, Princess. Your toes haven't curled up, not even a little."

She playfully curled her toes in. "There they go," she said with a smile.

He laughed, matching her playful smile with one of her own. "Cheater," he teased, laughing.

She liked the rumble of his laughter, the way his voice seemed to resonate through her entire body. It was new, this feeling inside of her, this sense of safety. This flutter of nerves inside her was a little different from the way she felt with Callan's hands on her legs, but not by much. She opened her mouth, thinking she should say something in response, when his mouth descended on hers. She gasped, not sure if it was a proper kiss at all, though it made her insides melt. Azkadellia fisted her hands in his shirt, feeling as though she was losing her balance even though his arms were tight around her. Della slid his tongue along the inside of her lips, then slowly entered her mouth. He touched her tongue briefly, testing her reaction. When she didn't seem ready to pull away or cry, Della slid his tongue further into her mouth, stroking her tongue with his. Azkadellia made a low moaning sound without even realizing it. She wanted more of this, more of... whatever happened next. She had no idea, and the witch had never said. The molten heat seemed to curl low in her belly, and a furious ache settled between her legs. She broke the kiss to breathe, still clutching his shirt desperately.

Della stroked her back gently, a soft sigh escaping him. Ah, hell. He probably shouldn't have done that. No, strike that. He _definitely_ shouldn't have done that. But he had wanted to, and she had wanted to, and she _liked_ it, so he couldn't be very sorry. Della tugged on a lock of her hair gently, catching her attention. "Well?"

"I think they curled this time," she responded wryly. She smiled and settled against him, her head on his shoulder. "Was it okay?"

Resisting the urge to shift his position, he made a noncommittal noise. "Passable. I think you need more practice, though."

Azkadellia lifted her head abruptly, startled. She saw his grin then, and began to laugh. "You had me thinking I was awful," she admitted.

Della's chuckle was gentle, and she let it roll through her comfortingly. He stroked her hair, gently applying pressure so that she was resting on his shoulder again. "Much more of that would break me, Princess," he admitted gravely.

"I liked it," Azkadellia murmured, snuggling against him. "I like you."

He smiled and held on tight. "I like you, too, Princess."

Once again, there were no nightmares that night.

***  
***


	7. Knowledge of Self

Primrose Valley was exactly that, a valley full of primroses and no path. Cain was starting to find the Mirror Zone annoying in the extreme.

The farmlands had simply reminded Ozma of everything that used to be in Oz in her time or in Dorothy Gale's time. Central City used to be called Emerald City, the Old Road used to be paved with yellow bricks and was known as the Yellow Brick Road. There used to be actual emeralds in the city, then they were removed. The actual reason seemed to vary on the iteration of the tale; it was to strengthen the magic of the borderlands, it was to spark the economy after a depression, it was to tap the energies of the good witches, it was to imprison the evil witches of the North and South, it was to line the family's burial chambers, it was to open trade with outlying lands beyond Oz. Emerald City was then white, and all citizens were required to wear glasses with green lenses to imitate its former finery. Dorothy's ruby slippers refused to glow anything but red despite the green glasses, and the magic belt years later refused to glow anything but white.

"I gave her all my magic," Ozma told them gravely, seated daintily on a fallen log at the edge of Primrose Valley. "Dorothy used it for the good of Oz, and I'm glad of that. She was a wonderfully benevolent ruler."

DG rubbed at her face. _I can't choke her. I can't kill her. I can't even ignore her!_ she groused mentally. She could look at Cain in despair, but that didn't help for very long. "We're at the end of Melinda's knowledge of the lands around here. Surely you know _something_ from living out here for so long."

"I was a boy once," Ozma told DG, apropos of nothing. "I definitely ran around a lot more then. But that wasn't here, and I don't know the way very well."

"Then how the hell did you get all the way to the mirrors! You stalked us with mirrors! If you were in the Dawn Sanctuary, how else could you get to the mirrors?!" DG exploded, unable to tolerate Ozma's guileless segues any longer.

Ozma began to cry. Big, fat, rolling tears came down her cheeks, and her eyes quickly became red and puffy. "I've been trying to help," she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "Don't you understand? I've only been trying to help!"

"DG..." Cain warned.

"No! This is ridiculous! You hate walking and you won't run. You barely eat anything and I'm fucking starving over here. You snore the roof down in that farmhouse and you bitch that you can't sleep well unless you're on a featherbed. You are the most useless princess _ever!"_

Ozma's sobbing grew louder, and she stood up. "You _hate_ me!" She rubbed at her eyes furiously. "You _hate_ me, and I've only been trying to help! It's different here! It always changes! It wasn't this way before!"

"I'm sure we can figure something out," Cain began in a soothing manner, trying to step between the two princesses.

"Make sense already!" DG cried in exasperation. "You don't make sense!"

"This wasn't the way!" Ozma shrieked, nearly howling with her grief. "Tik Tok gave you his enchanted map! This wasn't the way! And now he'll never find the way home, and Peter Pumpkinhead will be lost forever and I can't bring him back!"

The words deflated DG's anger. She bit her lip as her own face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Ozma. I didn't know."

"I've been trying to tell you," Ozma sobbed. "Haven't you been listening?"

"Not all the time," DG admitted reluctantly. She withered under Cain's glare. "I'm sorry! I wasn't. I get bored. I don't know what else to tell you."

"You're so mean!" Ozma howled, covering her face with her hands again. "You're such a cruel girl! You're so much worse than Mombi or the White Queen."

DG vaguely remembered the name Mombi. She didn't remember the White Queen. "Who are they again?"

"Mombi was the witch that imprisoned Ozma," Cain told her, voice heavy as a rebuke. He turned to Ozma. "You didn't tell us about the White Queen."

Ozma sniffled and took her hands away from her face. She looked at Cain in awe. "You were listening to me?"

"The whole time," he affirmed, nodding solemnly. "Someone had to, in case it was important."

Ozma gave a delighted cry and threw herself at Cain. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him squarely on the mouth. Shocked, Cain could only stand there stiffly until Ozma flounced away, humming happily to herself. DG raised an eyebrow at Cain's discomfiture. "That was... interesting."

"I know. So inappropriate to mix classes," Ozma replied, nodding. "But still. You were so mean, Dorothy Gale. You're nothing like your ancestor."

"Hey!" DG cried, insulted. "Stop calling me that. I told you, I'm DG. And I'm only cranky because I'm hungry and tired and my feet hurt. If you let us take that food that Melinda offered, we'd be fine right now."

"Conjure yourself something," Ozma replied, shrugging. "It's what I would do if I got hungry."

"You don't get hungry?" Cain asked, curious.

"No, not anymore, not really. That's just how it is."

"What do you mean, conjure?" DG asked. "I never learned how to do any of that." She frowned. "Or maybe I did, and I just forgot. My memory of everything before five years old is still locked away because of magic."

Ozma looked at DG in shock. "No wonder you're cranky all the time. All that magic inside must be uncomfortable."

DG tried not to roll her eyes at Ozma. "Um... Yeah. Maybe." She eyed Cain, who was trying not to laugh.

"I'll simply have to teach you," Ozma declared.

"But you don't even have magic anymore," DG pointed out.

"So? I know the principles of magic and how it works. I can still teach you how it works."

DG made a sour face and looked at Cain. "How long until the Dawn Sanctuary?"

"We still have to somehow get down into the valley and then walk through it."

"Can you make a portal?" Ozma asked, wiping at her eyes.

"No."

Ozma frowned. "I'm fairly sure all good witches know how to make those," she replied almost imperiously. "You are in dangerous standing, Dorothy."

DG covered her face with her hands to keep from smacking Ozma. "We're climbing down that wall."

"But that's not what princesses do!" Ozma cried, scandalized.

DG snorted. "That's what this princess is about to do to get down into the damn valley. Primroses aren't dangerous, Ozma. Unless there's something weird about those primroses?"

Ozma shook her head. "They're ordinary flowers."

"Then we're climbing. We can rest when we get to the bottom."

"You're so mean!" Ozma cried, and flounced away to pout.

DG rolled her eyes and looked at Cain. She caught his disapproving look. "What?"

"She's a child, even if she is a thousand years old or more. She can't help it."

"You are being way too nice to her." DG eyed Ozma's pouting form sitting on the log again. "If she seriously kisses you, she's getting slapped."

Cain chuckled softly. "Possessive?"

DG's expression was intense. "Absolutely. You're not getting away from me that easily, Wyatt." She checked that Ozma was looking over the Primrose Valley and not paying attention. She pulled Cain down for a kiss on the lips. "As soon as she falls asleep tonight, I'll show you how possessive I can get."

He couldn't help but grin in response, even though Ozma's earlier words left him feeling hollow inside. He _wasn't_ appropriate for her. He _wasn't_ what she needed. But he was also selfish enough to hold onto her for as long as he could. Cain held her hand tightly as they approached Ozma, not caring what the girl thought about that. She didn't seem to think anything of it before.

"It's going to be a difficult climb," Cain began. "It's best that we go slowly. Both of you have to remain safe."

Both princesses nodded, and let Cain lead the way down the cliff face. It was a long climb down, and both of the girls kept silent, focused on the task. It was the most quiet few hours Cain had heard all day.

***

Azkadellia, Della and Callan reached the forest's edge just before lunchtime. She gratefully sank down onto a fallen log to take the weight off of her ankle. Della went to backtrack to the stream they had passed earlier, in the hopes of fishing for their lunch. Callan unwrapped her ankle and took off her boots as he had on the other breaks. Azkadellia almost didn't know what to feel about this. He had touched her fairly intimately the day before, and while it had been pleasant, there had been a tension coiled within her as well. She didn't know what to do with that or what it meant. He was nice to her, and he certainly wasn't pushy with any of his talk.

"You seem a little more edgy today," Callan commented, feeling her muscles tense beneath his fingertips. He looked up at her carefully blank face, wondering what she felt.

"I'm fine," Azkadellia protested. Her breath hissed in between her teeth when his fingers wandered up the back of her calf muscle, making her lose her calm. "Why are you doing that? Why do you insist?" she asked, hating that her voice warbled.

Callan moved forward slightly, her leg still cradled in his hands. "You like how it feels. That complaint about propriety was just because you're nervous. Why are you so nervous? You like it. Isn't that enough?"

"How can you be happy with so little?" Azkadellia whispered, not sure why she was even asking it. She wanted more, but wasn't sure what this _more_ would entail.

He almost loomed over her, and Azkadellia scuttled backward until her back hit a tree. "Are you afraid, Princess?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. He pushed the edge of her skirt up, past her knees, exposing the silk stockings. He shifted position so that he could lay down on her leg, just above the knee. His breath was warm and moist through the silk stocking, and Azkadellia's breath caught. "What are you afraid of? Me?"

Azkadellia swallowed almost painfully as she shook her head. "No."

Callan brought his hand up to her knee, his fingertips grazing the inside of her thigh. "My dear," he began gently, seriously, "I'll be happy with whatever you see fit to give me. If this is as close to you as I get, then it's all I get. If you let me have more, then I will take it."

"But why?" she asked, almost desperately. "I'm not worth that."

His fingers moved in a circle along the inside of her thigh, and her breath fractured with the touch. "I think you are." He smiled at her then, and she seemed to melt under it. "Hasn't anyone ever thought that of you before?" She shook her head wordlessly, not knowing how to respond. "More's the pity, then," he replied, turning his head just enough to press a kiss to the inside of her knee. "You're beautiful, Princess," he began slowly, "but it's more than that. I want to protect you and show you off at the same time. I want to kiss away every ounce of fear in you." Callan paused and looked up. "Have you been kissed before?"

"Once," Azkadellia replied, thinking of Della's kiss the night before.

"And?" He smiled at her. "It looks like it must have been a good one, at least."

Azkadellia flushed, not knowing if she should mention Della's interest at all. How could she explain what was happening when she didn't understand it herself?

Callan slipped his fingers up higher along her thigh, reaching the edge of her stocking. "Ever been kissed here?" he asked, risking a touch along the bare skin.

Azkadellia gasped, shaking her head. "Never."

"Shall I be the first, then?" he asked, voice low and sensual.

Heat curled inside of her, pooling between her thighs. Her breath was already fractured, coming in short pants. Azkadellia opened her mouth, then closed it, not sure of what to say. "Is it right to be doing this?" she asked, voice strained. "I can't... I've done enough wrong already."

He heard the plaintive note in her voice and wished he could do something about it. No one could erase the past fifteen annuals, and there was no point in asking if anyone at the palace was kind to her. She had been sent on a mission with the two tin men as honor guards, but there was no other dedicated soul to go along with her to maintain her virtue. There was no support other than the two of them, and she seemed to thrive under their attention during the walk.

Callan pushed her skirt back, baring her thighs. "I'll stop if you're uncomfortable, Princess," he told her, tracing circles onto the bare skin of her thigh.

"I trust you," she whispered, trembling. She had her skirt fisted in her hands, unsure of what to do with them.

"You can touch me, too," he offered, smiling at her. "I'd prefer that, actually."

She flushed, caught in her innocence. It made no sense, to be as old as she was and not even know the mechanics of this. But no one had ever explained to her, and there was no ready source of information she could have gone to while possessed. The witch hadn't thought she needed to know how sex worked.

Azkadellia tentatively reached out and touched Callan's shaggy black hair. It had a soft, fine texture, even if it was cut oddly, and she found herself petting it gently. He sighed contentedly as he stroked her thigh, slowly moving up to the moistening juncture. She gasped when his fingertips made contact. "Callan," she protested weakly, shaking her head.

"Stop?"

She shook her head, fingers tightening in his hair. "I don't know," she whispered finally.

"Stop me when you know," he told her gravely. He was sprawled on the ground in front of her, his mouth mere inches from the apex of her thighs, her skirt spread out about her. His fingertips were at the crease where her leg met her torso, tracing it gently.

_Whore,_ the echo of the witch's voice told her. _Useless bitch._

Azkadellia flinched and squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel unshed tears burn beneath her eyelids, and knew she was about to cry helplessly. Wanting was bad. She shouldn't want anything. It was only going to get her hurt.

"Princess?" Callan asked, concerned. He withdrew his touch, and Azkadellia's eyes flew open. "You're crying."

"The witch," she gasped, reaching for him. "She'd call me awful things for wanting this."

He stroked her cheek. His touch was different from Della's but just as comforting. She could feel her heart slow somewhat, no longer beating as erratically. "You're not awful," Callan murmured gently. His voice flowed through her, soft like the creek had been when they passed it. "This is natural, Princess. It's physical love."

Something in her chest caught and burned. She wanted to cry and laugh at once, dance around and scream. She didn't know what she felt, but it _hurt_ to feel it.

Callan brushed her tears away and kissed the trails they left behind. "I'll stop if it troubles you," he murmured.

She caught his wrist in her hand. "Don't," she whispered, frightened. "It burns," she murmured, confused. "It's worse now than when you started. I need you to help me."

His face softened, and he nodded. "Anything, Princess," he murmured. He leaned forward and kissed her jaw, then her mouth. It was a softer kiss than Della's had been, yet the fire in her belly surged. She made a soft noise deep in her throat, and Callan cupped a breast in his hand. She moaned, her head falling back behind her. He kissed his way down the column of her throat. "Anything for you, Princess," he whispered against her pulse point.

Azkadellia shivered in his embrace. She didn't know what she was feeling, but she held onto his shoulders. His fingers massaged her nipples through the fabric of her dress. She made a soft moaning sound, arching into his touch. Callan moved lower down to the exposed skin above her stocking and licked it. She shivered again, breath catching. It was only a thin scrap of fabric separating her center from his lips, and it was soaked.

"Ah, you do want this," Callan murmured, tracing it with his fingertip. He looked up when she sucked in a breath, color high in her cheeks and her lips parted. _She's a virgin,_ he had to remind himself. He couldn't just take her right there. "I'll help you, Princess," he murmured. "I'll take care of you."

He lowered his mouth to her, tasting her through the thin silk covering her. Azkadellia moaned, her hands falling to his shoulders and clutching them desperately. He traced her folds through the silk, delighting in the restless movements of her legs. She was panting when his tongue found her clit, swollen with need and slick with her juices. She made a soft, frantic noise as he licked her through her panties, as he tried to suck on her clit. Azkadellia's hips tilted of their own accord, giving him better access to her sex. She moaned when he slid a finger inside her, past the wet fabric between them. She was tight, too tight, barrier still in place. Callan moved his finger slowly, feeling her from the inside.

Azkadellia could barely breathe, the heat coiling inside her and building up pressure. She could only clutch Callan's shoulders as he worked her with his mouth, tasting her and giving her the most intimate of kisses. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of him. The pleasure was almost more than she could stand, and she was panting. She could feel her body start to tighten, could feel that something was coming. Her moans were almost whines, and she whimpered at even the feel of his breath across her fevered skin.

Callan moved aside the sopping fabric and touched his tongue to her swollen clit. Azkadellia made a soft keening noise of pleasure, hips bucking against his lips. Grinning, he licked her in earnest. His finger remained inside her, and he could feel her start to clench around it. Callan took her clit between his lips and sucked, causing her to buck wildly against him, moaning wordlessly in ecstasy as she came.

He sat back in his haunches and watched over her, sprawled against the tree. He licked his lips, drowning in the scent and taste of her. His cock ached for her, but he wouldn't push his luck. He hadn't been lying. He would take whatever he could get of her, as much as she was willing to allow. It might be three days, but he was already in love with her.

"Callan?" Azkadellia asked weakly, reaching for him.

"Princess?" he asked, his cock twitching at the sound of her voice calling for him.

"That... I'm not horrible for liking that?"

Her voice was fragile and small, almost hopeless. She was expecting to be called names, to be berated for enjoying his touch. Callan wished he could have helped to kill the witch.

"No, Princess," he said, voice hoarse with need. He smiled at her languid pose, the flush of release on her skin. "You're beautiful. You're wonderful just as you are. It's not horrid at all. It's normal. This is what it feels like."

"Oh. I liked that," she whispered with a shy smile. She reached for him and caught his hands in hers. "I liked that a lot."

Callan thought his heart would break from the wonder in her tone. "I'm glad you did," he said instead. "Maybe we can do it again?"

She laughed shyly, clutching his hands tightly. "Can you?"

"Now? Sure."

Azkadellia shook her head. "I don't... I don't know if I can handle more."

Ah, his pride was absolutely swollen from the praise. He laughed and pulled the princess against him in an embrace. He rocked her, his laughter one of genuine delight. "Whenever you're ready, Princess, I'm here."

She kissed him on the lips gently, surprised at the taste of herself on his lips. "Thank you."

He couldn't believe she saw it as a favor he was doing her, rather than the other way around. He kissed her forehead and tucked her against him. He was all angles and bone, but she fit against him nicely. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, his pulse close to her ear. It was a comforting sound, a tick-tock with a steady rhythm as she held onto his shoulders for balance. Everything she had ever known was shifting on its axis, and the two men were quickly becoming her only means of keeping herself sane. She felt as if she should shatter into a thousand pieces, as if she should listen to the remnants of the witch's voice in the back of her mind.

_I love you,_ his touch said, even if his lips haven't yet.

She didn't know if what she felt for him was love. She didn't even know if it was more or less than what she felt for Della. They were different, and did different things for her. She responded to them differently, and she couldn't seem to decide which of them meant more.

She clung to him, struggling to get her breathing in order. She couldn't hurt either one.

She would break her own heart first.

***  
***


	8. Primrose Valley

Ozma fell asleep as soon as they made camp at the base of the cliffs. Primrose Valley lay ahead of them. While it looked simple enough, Cain wasn't about to trust it. Ozma had no knowledge of any Primrose Valley, and Melinda Berrywine had assured them there was a bridge across the valley. It wasn't large, but the cliffs had been steep and difficult to climb. If anything lay in wait in the Primrose Valley, Cain knew the princesses wouldn't have been able to handle it.

Ozma fell asleep in her dress as soon as she bunked down in the makeshift tent that Cain made out of bush branches and ivy vines. She hadn't seemed overly concerned with the fact that DG didn't have a tent of her own, and hadn't offered to share the tiny tent. Cain supposed that she assumed he would simply make another.

DG shimmied out of her dress, which was torn and battered. It was too flimsy a concoction to survive climbing cliffs, and it was only because of Ozma's shrieks about propriety that she didn't simply rip out half of the petticoats on the way down the cliff.

Cain's mouth went dry. DG was clad in only a sheer slip that left nothing to imagination. With a wiggle of her hips, even that was gone.

"You can touch," she said, lips twisting into a gently mocking grin. "I already said you could, you know."

"DG..." Cain began voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I..."

"You're wearing too many clothes," DG declared cheekily, coming forward. In no time she had him out of his uniform, as stark naked as she. "There. That's better. Now we match."

He cleared his throat again. "I'm not sure I can..."

DG clucked her tongue playfully. "You don't even have to do any work if you're tired."

"What?"

DG tugged on his hand and had him sit on the valley floor. She gave his shoulders a push and had him lie down. She straddled him, hovering above him. "Like last time. If I want it, I don't mind the work. Got it?"

Cain chuckled and shook his head. "Obviously, I can't resist you."

"I could order you around if you like," DG purred. "I think that might be hot."

"DG... This can't last forever."

Her expression smoldered. "As long as we live for, then," she promised. She slid her hands down his chest, long, languid strokes that nearly had him shivering from the contact. She took his cock into her hands and stroked him. After a moment, he slid his hands along the outsides of her thighs to rest them on her hips. Smiling, DG took one of those hands to cup a breast. "Whatever the rules are in the OZ, I don't care. I'll rewrite them."

"The nobility, DG," Cain ground out, trying not to buck his hips at her touch. "They'll be needed. They won't like how you've ignored them."

"I'm royalty. I can do whatever the fuck I want. And what I want is you."

Cain let his eyes fall shut. While some small part of him railed against her words, at the blatant impropriety of their relationship, another larger part of him thrilled at her touch. She wanted him, was very vocal and physical about that want, and did whatever she could to let him know. DG wanted to be with him. It had been annuals since he last felt loved, since he last felt a woman's touch. Before DG had set him free from his iron cage, he had nothing but despair to keep him company. DG was living hope and love, and he fell under her spell completely.

He could feel himself harden against her palm, and her thumb fell on top of the head of his cock. She thumbed the building moisture, swirling it around the tip. "You're too good at this," he moaned, rolling his own thumb over her nipple.

Her laughter was thready. "I pay attention to what you like, lucky man."

Lucky man, indeed. Cain's senses were narrowed to the small part of reality around them. He had one hand at her breast, and moved the other to her damp slit. He traced the damp curls, noting her sharp intake of breath with satisfaction. He slid a finger inside her, teasing her, and her hand tightened around his cock.

"It's a good thing I can pay attention, too," he murmured, smiling at her.

Her grin was wicked. "Two can play that game, Wyatt."

"Try me. I'll outlast you."

DG flashed him a fierce grin. "You're on."

She moved slightly, confusing him. On all fours, DG positioned herself to the side of Cain's sprawled body. She leaned down and then took him into her mouth. He could easily still fondle and touch her, but she was counting on her mouth feeling too good for him to make her come first. She licked the length of him, then twirled her tongue around his cock in circles. One of her hands propped her up. The other slipped across his pelvis, lightly scratching him.

Cain had anticipated that she would step it up, but hadn't quite expected this. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making too much noise that would wake Ozma. He slid his hand along her thigh to cup her backside. From there, he traced his way back down and around. His fingers settled between her legs, fingertips grazing her moist heat. He slid his fingers inside her, just the tips, then drew them out again, teasing her. "Someone seems a little pleased with the situation," he said in a low voice, knowing she couldn't reply.

Heat curled inside her at the sound of his voice, and she moaned. The vibration rippled along his cock, and it twitched inside her mouth. Her wetness was slick on Cain's fingers as they worked her from the inside out, the thumb brushing against her clit. She made a soft keening noise, muffled, and Cain tried not to chuckle at the way she tilted her hips so he could have even better access. He moved his hand against her in a steady rhythm, until her entire body tightened and she nearly gagged. DG moved, releasing his cock and pressing her face into his thigh as she gasped for air, coming.

"I think I won," Cain commented mildly, his fingers still working her.

"Cheater," DG replied without heat, collapsed against him. She sucked in a breath as he continued to stroke her sensitive clit, a finger deep inside of her. "Oh, god, that's so good. Oh, Wyatt, just like that..."

His cock twitched at the sound of her voice fracturing like that. "Mm... Care to teach me a lesson, then? Show me what else you want to do to me?"

She took him back into her mouth, sucking hard where she would have gasped for air. Cain made a small noise deep in his throat, and his cock twitched in her mouth. He kept working her, finger inside her, thumb at her clit. He stroked her in small circles, then back and forth. Already sensitive, DG made muffled mewling noises, hips bucking against his hand. Cain could feel her tighten around his finger, her hands clutching desperately at his hips for balance. Another stroke, and she stiffened, groaning around his cock as she came again. Cain didn't stop, kept at the same rhythm against her clit. DG gave up the pretense of sucking him, and pressed her face against his thigh, gasping for air. Her moans were delicious and throaty, more than making up for the lost warmth of her mouth. He moved at a more punishing pace, fingers fast and slick with her juices. She made soft, muffled mewling noises, twisting above him.

After she came again, she pushed his hand away, gasping "Enough, too sensitive, too much, too much," and almost hissing as he tried to coax another orgasm out of her.

"I suppose this means hands down I win," he told her, grinning.

DG made a face at him and turned herself around with some effort. She straddled him and sank down on top of him, sighing in contentment. "You are a sore winner. I am so gonna have to punish you for that one."

"Go right ahead." Cain folded his arms behind his head and smiled lazily at her. "Punish me."

She rode him hard, gasping at the feel of him inside of her. At one point she pulled his hands up to her torso, and he cradled her breasts in his hands. DG moaned as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, as he traced the space just below her breasts with his other hand. She started moving faster, and Cain rolled his hips upward to meet her. Her eyes rolled up as she meet his thrusts, biting her lip to keep from making too much noise. She was moving faster, almost erratically, and he could feel her begin to tighten around his cock. He thrust harder, deeper, and gave her nipple a light pinch. The sensation drove her over the edge, and she nearly collapsed on top of him. A few more thrusts and Cain let himself spill into her.

DG draped herself across his prone form. "If you think I'm giving this up, you're crazy, Wyatt."

"I just don't want you to regret it," he told her soberly, stroking her hair. "I already have a lifetime of regrets. I don't want you to know what that feels like."

DG lifted her head up and met his gaze. "I don't regret meeting you. Or saving you. Or kissing you. Or sleeping with you. I won't ever regret it." She gave him a wry smile. "Maybe running away the way I did. But even that I can't even regret properly, because it brought you back to me. I was lonely, Wyatt. And I didn't know what I was doing. I still don't. You can't pretend I'd make any kind of good princess."

"You're our princess," he told her, stroking her hair gently. "You're the one we need."

She smiled and leaned her head down on his chest. "And you're the one I need."

They lay that way for a while, letting the evening cool their bodies. Morning would come soon enough, and the masks would have to be replaced. For now, they enjoyed just holding each other, hearing their hearts beat in time.

***

"The map is different now," DG said in horror, looking at the enchanted map. Cain looked at it over her shoulder, and couldn't help but agree. They were located in the Primrose Valley, which was now nowhere near the Lunchpail Grove or Berrywine farm. Now it was on the other side of the map, closer to the mountains. Cain looked up and tried to see over the cliff's edge, but there was no way to tell if they were truly near mountains or not. The only benefit to the current map view was that there was a bridge on the other side of the valley. A river now cut its way through the opposite cliff wall, and there was an extensive cave system that hadn't been there the day before. The bridge on the map crossed this river and led into the cave system, labeled Bloodrock Mountain Pass. It led them beneath the Boiling Crater to Wyvern Coil Ridge. Coil Keep was marked on the map next to the Pass' exit.

"I don't know anything about any of those places," Ozma told them, voice warbling with fear. "It sounds horrible. A princess should never be exposed to blood. Or wyverns. Princesses get eaten that way."

DG resisted the urge to smack herself in the face or smack her in the face. She pasted on a pleasant expression. "That's the only way out of the valley now that we're here."

"There must be another way to reach Aunt Lurlaine," Ozma said plaintively, nearly wailing. "I can't go through dragons and wyverns and blood and horrid things like that. It's not right and it's not fitting."

"Something doesn't want us to get to the Dawn Santuary," Cain remarked, voice bland. "I wonder who has the power to rearrange an entire Zone that way."

"Aunt Lurlaine wouldn't do that," Ozma protested immediately. "Maybe it's the Breakers?"

"I thought they ate magic," DG asked, curious. "Wouldn't it take magic to rearrange a zone like this? That's a waste."

"But it would keep us away from Aunt Lurlaine, and it would keep her from being able to send you back."

DG made a face. "This dress is filthy and all but ripped to shreds. I don't know if I can take a huge hike dressed like this."

Ozma looked at her in wonder. "You haven't been doing repairing spells?"

Now DG smacked herself in the forehead, groaning. "No, Ozma," she intoned, rolling her eyes behind her palm.

"But it's so simple. I used to do them all the time." She smiled at them brightly. "I don't have magic anymore, but those were easy."

"I don't know how to use my magic, all right? I don't remember how to do a lot of things."

Ozma looked at her in wonder. "I said I would teach you."

"Perhaps that's best," Cain said, cutting off whatever DG's reply would have been. "You need your magic," he told DG when she would have protested. "And of all places to stop off in, this one isn't so bad. At least it's safe, and we'll be able to see whoever's coming."

"We have no food," DG told him darkly, scowling at Ozma's bright expression.

"Conjure it," Ozma told her, smiling. "It's really easy to get water and sweet rolls that way."

DG sighed under Cain's earnest expression. "All right, then. That's as good a place to start as any. Teach me how to conjure food."

Grinning, Ozma moved over to sit beside DG. "It's all about the intent, you see..."

Cain moved away from the two women and surveyed Primrose Valley. Something didn't sit right with him, and the rearranging world was weighing heavily on him. It did take a lot of magic to be able to do that, as far as he could tell. Even in the OZ, Azkadellia hadn't simply rearranged the world to suit her taste.

Ozma's protests or not, this Queen Lurlaine might be trouble. He didn't know if the Breakers were a real threat or not, and no one did get around to telling them about the other people of Oz that they should have known about. Ozma herself seemed to only explain things if asked directly, and her explanations took roundabout ways of getting to her vague answers. He didn't see any reason not to trust Ozma, but he also didn't see any reason why she would be upset about things and then mysteriously blase about it. The way in which they had even met her was odd. If she had no magic, then how could she have been able to track their movements through the mirrors? How could she easily refer to thousands of years of Oz history and yet not age a day? How could she exist on air and look as though she was able to clothe and feed herself magically? Cain would keep an eye on her as well as the surroundings.

Something didn't sit right with the entire situation, and his instinct for that sort of thing was never wrong.

***

Conjuring food and water was easy. Conjuring in general seemed to come easily to DG, and she was able to conjure just about anything she wanted. It was harder for her to do cleaning spells or repair spells, though healing spells were also very easy for her. True, no one had anything beyond a few scrapes or bruises from the climb down the cliff wall, but DG healed them all to perfection with simply a touch. Cain guessed that it would really only be a matter of time before repair and cleaning were easier to do. It seemed more logical that healing someone would be more complicated that fixing a torn dress.

DG did appreciate Ozma's help in teaching her how to harness her magic, and grudgingly allowed Ozma to continue the lessons as they trudged through Primrose Valley. On impulse, she plucked a primrose and tucked it into Ozma's hair.

Pleasantly startled, Ozma grinned at DG and then swiftly hugged her. "I'm sorry. I was wrong to say you were mean. You were just scared, weren't you? You're nothing like Mombi or the White Queen. I'm sorry."

"Who is the White Queen?" Cain asked, curious.

"She was the Queen of ice and snow, and she had a lot of frost magic. But she was mean and evil and nasty, and Aunt Lurlaine cast her out." Ozma beamed at them both. "You don't have to ever worry about her here."

Here wasn't what Cain was afraid of.

They approached Bloodrock Pass, and its entrance loomed large and imposing before them. "This is the way?" Ozma asked in a tiny voice. "But there's no light."

DG held up her hand and her palm flared to light. It felt much easier to find her magic now, as opposed to the fits and starts she had when she was first told of it. DG could almost direct its flow, could shape it to her will.

"It looks like we have a light source now," Cain said, nodding approvingly at DG. He looked at the map again and then tucked it into his vest. "It doesn't look as though the Pass is very long. We should be able to walk through it fairly quickly, and then head to Coil Keep. Are you sure you don't know anything about it?"

Ozma shook her head. "I don't know the name at all. I'm pretty sure I'd remember a place that sounds as gloomy as that."

"Well, I guess we're on an adventure," DG said with false cheerfulness. Ozma merely nodded brightly at her. "Let's get to it."

They entered the pass, DG lighting the way.

***  
***


	9. The Gray Gale

Azkadellia stood in front of the shimmering door, almost afraid of what lay behind it. She remembered throwing her sister into a coffin, the witch howling and cackling with glee. Her mind was silent in her grief, no other voice to mock her. The two tin men with her were solid figures, silent as they let her contemplate the door.

She went in without a backward glance.

Pursing his lips slightly, Callan sat down on the forest floor and looked up at Della. "How long do you think this would take?"

Della undid the traveling pack he was carrying and let it fall to the forest floor. He then sat down and contemplated Callan. "I don't know how this magic stuff works. Why? In a hurry to be somewhere, are you?"

Callan shook his head and stared at the shimmering shadow of a doorway. "She's more fragile than she looks, you know." Della merely grunted and nodded. "And she's an innocent."

Della's eyebrows raised. "And you know this how?"

He shrugged. "Messing about?"

Della glowered at him. "That's not a good idea, Callan." He made a face. "I should know."

Callan stared at Della in shock. "You, too?"

If at all possible, Della's glower deepened even further. "It's not like I planned it. Or planned to say anything to you."

"Well, I wasn't thinking about it when I started this, really." Callan frowned. "So we're in love with the same girl?"

"A _royal,"_ Della corrected glumly. "You know this won't end well."

"You know nothing ends well for me," Callan replied, voice bland. "So I'm perfectly willing to take what I can get. If she throws me over for you..." He shrugged and picked up a twig beside him. He slowly began to shred it. "I'm okay with that, actually. At least it's you. I can live with that. You're a good one, and I know she'd be safe with you."

Della shook his head. "You just live to suffer, don't you?" He glanced at the shimmering door and then back at Callan. "If she chooses you, I wouldn't complain either."

Callan tossed aside the half-shredded twig and smiled at Della. "Who do you think she'll pick? Me and my charm or you and your glower?"

Della shook his head and leaned against a tree. "Whoever she decides is whoever she decides. I'll live with whatever that is."

"You're no fun," Callan complained half heartedly. "You don't talk about anything."

"You talk about everything, so it balances out," Della replied. He looked over at Callan. "You're not going all emotional on me, are you?"

Callan sighed and looked over at the shimmering door. "No. I just want to do right by her. I haven't felt this way since Kelly."

Della sighed as well. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. It's been a long time."

"That it has."

After a long moment, Callan looked over at Della. "This is the first time you've been really caught up in someone, isn't it? You've never even mentioned anyone before."

He shrugged. "Too busy with family and getting them settled."

"When's it your turn?"

Della shrugged again. "When it happens. I'm sure it will when I'm ready for it."

"You think it's the Princess?"

"It shouldn't be," Della hedged uncomfortably. He didn't talk about deeply personal things like this with anyone, not even Callan. It wasn't his thing to talk about feelings and the like. He acted, reacted, protected, shielded. He didn't feel, and he certainly didn't talk about it if he did.

Callan pursed his lips. "I can't seem to care, though. If they don't care enough about propriety to send along even one handmaiden..."

"That's disrespecting the Queen," Della said sharply, cutting off Callan's snipe.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But if she won't protect the Princess, then we have to."

"Even from ourselves?" Della asked archly.

Callan groaned and tossed a rock away from them in frustration. "Maybe everyone else."

"You can't have it both ways."

"We can if she chooses it," Callan replied, aware that he sounded like a sulky child.

Della didn't reply. He simply heaved a sigh and nodded. He didn't want to leave Azkadellia's side either, even if it was probably in her best interest. The matter was moot if she didn't choose to be with either of them. He certainly wasn't going to force the issue and he doubted Callan would either. For all his brash talk and foolishness at times, Callan was sincere to a fault. If the Princess didn't want them, neither tin man would ever speak of it again.

Some part of him was afraid that she wouldn't, that she would come to her senses and the quiet times they had alone would end. Della knew that Callan feared the same thing.

All they had to do was wait.

***

Azkadellia entered the mausoleum and almost hesitantly approached the section devoted to her greatest-great-grandmother, the first Dorothy Gale. She pushed open the doors, not sure what she would see. DG hadn't really talked about what it was like, and as the Sorceress Azkadellia hadn't cared anyway.

She blinded by the stark white surroundings, the lack of direction around her. Once the door shut behind her, Azkadellia had no idea which way was which.

Azkadellia took the Emerald of the Eclipse from around her neck. The stone seemed so small and fragile, the chain cold and heavy in the palm of her hand. "I came to return this," she said, voice stronger and more sure than she felt. "And I need help. The OZ is in danger."

"Delia," came a soft voice to the right of her.

Azkadellia turned abruptly, nearly falling due to her unsteady ankle. A young girl was there, perhaps twelve or thirteen. She looked similar to Azkadellia in the sense that they had the same dark hair and eyes, the same shaped nose.

Dorothy smiled as Azkadellia recognized her. "I had an older sister named Delia. Did you know that?" Azkadellia could only shake her head.

Dorothy turned and pointed behind her. The blinding white landscape resolved into a black and white one, a house in Kansas that had been immortalized in paintings from Dorothy Gale's time. DG had later confirmed it was the same house she had grown up in on the Other Side. Her parents had even been given the same names as Dorothy's guardians.

"This is the house I grew up in," Dorothy continued. "But I didn't always live here." She smiled sadly at Azkadellia and took the emerald from her. It disappeared into the blinding whiteness around them. "I had parents once. And an older sister named Delia. She was sick, and they were taking her to the doctor. Only, there was an accident on the way back. They never made it back home. I lived with Uncle Hank and Auntie Em after that."

"DG's parents were based on yours, then?"

Dorothy smiled, nodding. "Your mother didn't know, though. It's all right. The patterns persist, and we always come back to the beginning sooner or later." She took Azkadellia's hand, and it felt like a sharp jolt entered her. "There. Your foot should be good enough for walking now. You have a long road to walk, Delia. It gets harder from here."

"Why? Is it the Breakers?"

Dorothy suddenly looked older, middle aged, though Azkadellia couldn't tell when the age shift happened. "There have always been those that try to corrupt the lands. Sometimes the tales get told, but the details are different. Sometimes the truth is twisted so much you can't recognize it anymore." She looked over at the farmhouse, twelve years old again. She looked so sad and forlorn, suddenly looking lost and fragile.

Azkadellia impulsively put an arm around Dorothy in a comforting gesture. Dorothy turned to her, middle aged again. "They love you, you know. Your family, your guards. You're not as alone as you feel."

Mouth dry, Azkadellia could only nod. "And the OZ?"

Dorothy looked old, then. She was bent over, fragile and with white hair. She looked almost like a wizened witch herself. "Things are not as they seem, Delia. You are she, and DG is me. And the turmoil that brought me here all those centuries ago were never truly gotten rid of. They were just pushed aside. Shards were left behind. Splinters of unrest." The grandmotherly Dorothy touched Azkadellia's face gently. "You are stronger than you think you are. You're not the victim you believe yourself to be."

"But what do I _do?"_

"Live," Dorothy said, a child again. "The rest will take care of itself. The Breakers are merely tools. They're dangerous tools, but they don't act on their own. They don't have free will, and they will always obey the command of their Queen."

"I don't understand. What Queen?"

"Who controls the Breakers?" Dorothy asked instead, still looking like a child.

Azkadellia dimly remembered her mother's words. It seemed so long ago now. "Mother said the Breakers are meant to devour magic and the ties that keep the Zones separate. They are the servants of the northern witch, the one of ice and snow."

Dorothy nodded, smiling. "You know everything you need to know, Delia."

Azkadellia wanted to cry. She wanted to be this Delia, she wanted to be the girl she used to be, before the southern witch had corrupted her so badly. She didn't know what to say, what to ask. Her mother had thought Dorothy had all the answers, but she was just as confused as before.

Dorothy was older again, not nearly middled aged. She kissed Azkadellia on the forehead. "There are many enemies of Oz. Not all of them are as visible as the Breakers, or as malevolent. Sometimes, it's the inaction that does the most harm." She smoothed Azkadellia's hair away from her face. "There are no easy answers, Delia. Even if I gave them to you, it wouldn't help. This is something you have to earn. Something you have to do on your own."

"I need to face the Ice Witch, don't I?"

"You do," Dorothy confirmed sadly. "But you're ready. I trust you. You can do it, Delia." She kissed Azkadellia's forehead again.

"What if I don't trust myself?" Azkadellia whispered brokenly.

Dorothy placed her hands on Azkadellia's shoulders firmly. "You will. You can do this. I know you can, and I trust you. You are my sister, born again, just as DG is me born again. You lost each other as children. The difference is, I couldn't get my sister back. You and DG can start over, can get to know each other again." She leaned her forehead against Azkadellia's, and it felt like a warm glow was passing through, easing Azkadellia's pain. "I've missed her so much. Don't let this opportunity go to waste."

Nearly sobbing, Azkadellia nodded and hugged her ancestor tightly. "I'm trying so hard."

"I know, honey," Dorothy murmured, stroking Azkadellia's back. "It gets better, I promise."

"I don't know were to go from here," Azkadellia wailed.

"North," Dorothy replied simply. "Go north and find her. It's more than just this world that you would save. She's not very particular, that one. She would destroy everything if she could, just because she's angry and alone."

Azkadellia knew what that felt like, that burning anger that consumed everything in its path. It had burned its way through her, leaving her an empty shell in its wake.

"Go on," Dorothy murmured. She was suddenly a child again, and the Emerald of the Eclipse shone around her neck. "It's time to save the kingdom," she said, smiling. "Our family has grown complacent over the centuries, soft in the time of peace. You have been tempered by your experiences, Delia. It's made you stronger, even if you don't think so. You have to take back what's about to be lost."

And then Azkadellia was outside the Gray Gale's doors, stumbling backward toward the entrance to the family mausoleum.

Azkadellia stumbled from the family mausoleum and ignored their concerned voices. Whether it was late or not, she needed to rest. While her ankle was healed, her mind was swirling with everything Dorothy had said and didn't say. She plopped down in an ungainly heap next to the two tin men and began to craft a message bubble. It was small and pink, a little floaty frothing thing that silenced the men more effectively than any words she could have said. "I was injured on the journey to the Gray Gale, so I have only just arrived to speak with her. The danger is great enough that I must continue on to find the Ice Witch and defeat her. I have the guardians you have sent to accompany me. They are more than capable of assisting me." Her words were clear and clipped, precise. After a pause, Azkadellia bowed her head. "Find my mother, the Queen. Give her this message only if she is alone and safe from prying ears. Otherwise, follow her at a discreet distance." The message bubble seemed to bob and curtsey, then zoomed away.

"Um... Princess? What was that?" Callan asked, nonplused.

"A message bubble," she answered, still tense. She couldn't meet their eyes.

"Yes, but what is it? That's not ordinary magic," Della prompted.

"It was a long time ago," Azkadellia replied, voice low and strained. "The witches used to travel that way. Gather themselves up inside a bubble and cross the entire Zone if they liked." She rubbed the inside of her left elbow, staring off in the distance. "The witch didn't like to do it, so I've never tried. I don't know if I can carry myself, much less three."

"That explains why we've been walking," Callan quipped, trying to break the tension.

"What did she say?" Della asked when the silence began to stretch out. "We have to find this Ice Witch, you said. Where is that?"

"North," Azkadellia replied, voice clipped and strange. "I'm not..." She looked up then, as if really seeing them for the first time since leaving the Gray Gale. "I'm not sure how to explain it right now. I'm exhausted. I'm not ready for this."

"Magic stuff," Della grunted. She nodded absently. "All right. We'll camp here. It's not long until dinner anyway."

"I'm not hungry," Azkadellia said shortly.

Rebuffed, Della nodded and went into the forest to hunt for himself and Callan. Callan pursed his lips slightly and moved to check on Azkadellia's ankle as he had done at every other rest stop.

"I'm fine," she said, moving slightly away. "It's healed."

"Forgive me if I'd rather check," he replied, taking on the same clipped tone. "She did a number on you if this is the way you're treating us now."

Azkadellia flushed and looked away. "I can't do this."

"The journey north? We'll help you."

She could hear the concern in his voice, the care he was taking with her. Her heart was breaking, a little piece at a time. Dorothy hadn't mentioned either of them. She had to send them away, had to protect them. If she was going to fight the Ice Witch, it was going to be with magic, not might. She had to save them from her, had to make sure they wouldn't be harmed in the inevitable battle. The Ice Witch and the Water Witch had been sisters. They had the same cruel streak, and the Ice Witch wouldn't suffer the Water Witch's death gladly.

_Cliara,_ Azkadelllia's mind corrected. _Cliara won't like it that I helped to kill Aliana. They were young once, and beautiful. They held magic and manipulated it, like thread to a weaver. The corruption came slowly..._

Azkadellia blinked at the feel of Callan's arm around her shoulders, at the slight rocking. "Princess," he was murmuring, breaking her reverie. The witch's memories were swimming in her head, not far below the surface. "Princess, we're only trying to help."

"You can't," she told him bluntly. "You'll be killed."

"I thought that might be it," he said, his voice calm as ever. "When Della calms down, he'll realize it, too."

"I should go to bed. I can't... I'm going to say mean things."

With a soft sigh, Callan let her go. "You can't run forever," he said gently as she threw down the magic tents.

_I'm going to try,_ she thought wearily, crawling into her tent.

She thought she was going to sink into the oblivion of sleep. Surely Dorothy would have calmed her nightmares. Surely.

But the nightmares were of a different dominion. It wasn't something as simple as a spell for Dorothy to dispell, or a strained tendon to heal. It was Azkadellia's own burden, something she couldn't share.

The witch was there. Aliana, once upon a time, before the corruptions came, before the schism. Now she was the witch, the southern witch, the water witch. She was in her cave, her creature-children above them. They flew in slow motion, circling overhead. Azkadellia was twelve again, in her favorite blue dress, her magic failing her. She was too young, untrained. She was flawed and jealous and weak, and the witch knew this. DG was scared and silly, but Azkadellia was the tastier meal by far.

"Come see my newest creations, my dear," the witch cackled, hunched over her worktable. "Come see my children."

Azkadellia couldn't stop herself from moving, couldn't stop herself from seeing. Della was a stone golem, blades for fingers and claws for feet. Callan was a spider, mandibles dripping poison that caused the stone floor to bubble. She was tied to a ring in the stone floor, unable to escape. Della advanced first, obsidian chips reflecting her despair.

"I can let you try to resist," the witch crooned in her ear as Della approached. "Do you think you can protect yourself now?"

"No," Azkadellia sobbed, trying to twist away from her grasp. "No, stop this. Please, I beg of you. Please, Aliana. Please stop this."

The witch took her tear stained face in hand and looked at her misery with an appraising eye. "You will taste all the sweeter for your pain."

The blades sank into her back, and Azkadellia choked on the pain of it. She could see Callan's spidery form in her peripheral vision, his extra arachnid legs glinting in the half light. The poisoned mandibles sank down into her leg. She couldn't feel them past the initial burn of the poison, and she looked at the witch pleadingly. "I was a good girl. I did what you said."

The witch slapped her across the face. "You fought me, you imbecile. You fought all the gifts I gave you, all the strength. You cried and pleaded and _whined_ about your lovely family. _Love,"_ the witch spat. "Look at what your love has brought you. It does nothing but break you to pieces. Look at what love has done to you. You're unable to fight them. You can't. You're weak and useless and alone. You're not even worth the time I spent inside your body. Look at you! Look at how worthless you are!"

"No," Azkadellia sobbed, feeling the knives sink deeper into her back. Della's other hand was coming around to her front. "No, no, no, nonononono..."

The witch laughed as he yanked her still beating heart out of her chest.

Della shook her awake, and Azkadellia nearly screamed in terror. She skittered away from him, eyes wide and unseeing, her hands clutched over her chest. She thought it broken and bleeding, and she continued to moan "No, no, no, no..."

"Princess," Della rumbled, crouched at the side of her bed. "Princess, it's me. It's Paul Della. I'm one of your guardians. Whatever you see, it's not here. It's _me."_

The plaintive note at the end caught her attention. Her eyes refocused, and she clutched at her chest, gasping. "She... She turned you into a golem," Azkadellia gasped. "Callan's a spider. We have to... I have to... I can't fight her. I can't. I'm not strong enough to do this." Azkadellia sobbed, bringing her clutched hands to her face. "I can't do this."

Della approached slowly, patiently. She gasped when he took her hands from her face, when he gently pulled her into his lap. The tears continued to flow, and he simply held her while she shook with fear. "You think she'll kill us, this witch in the north."

"She will," Azkadellia sobbed into the crook of his neck. "She will, you don't have magic."

"She lives. She has a body. And a body can be hurt."

Azkadellia gulped in air, shaking her head. "She's too powerful, too strong."

His hands ran down her back, only thin silk separating the skin of her back from his hands. She could feel the warmth in him, the presence and confidence. She trembled, but he touched her with surety. "You will defeat her," he whispered into her ear. "You will save us. I know you can."

"How? I'm a ruined princess. No one trusts me. No one loves me." She tried not to sound like a child, but couldn't help it. "No one loves me, not even my mother."

_I love you,_ Della thought. He couldn't say the words. She may not appreciate them, may not want them. Once spoken, they couldn't be recanted, couldn't be erased. The words held power, as much power as any magic spell. He wouldn't burden her with his love if she didn't want it. She was frightened enough for his well being.

"We trust you," Della said instead. He continued to stroke her back soothingly. "We trust you."

"How? How can you? I'm a monster. I did horrible things."

"You've paid enough," Della replied soothingly. "The people will let it go soon enough."

She shook her head, still shaking. "They can't and won't. I'm the dark sister, the evil one. I'm not good enough," she sobbed.

Della buried his face in the crook of her neck. He wasn't good at this emotional _feeling_ stuff. That was Callan's department. He was all warm and fuzzy, touchy-feely. Della was everyone's rock of stability. He was the dependable one. He took care of everything. He made sure his two little sisters were fed and clothed after his father died in the line of duty, just as his grandfather had. He was a third generation tin man, responsible for his family. His mother had died in birthing his youngest sister, so he had to learn to cook and clean the game he hunted, as well as take care of the household while his father and grandfather were at work. There was no formal schooling for him, no other route than responsibility. The Academy took him in as a Della, and he had worked hard to earn his place there. There had been no time for feelings, for pain, for resentment. He _was,_ and he _existed,_ and he _cared for._ It had always been enough before.

"I'm here, Princess," he murmured against her neck. "I'm with you." _I love you._

She burrowed into him, and his body couldn't help but react. He drew in a hissing breath, and Azkadellia drew back a little, enough to look at his face. "I've hurt you?"

"No, Princess," he said softly. "I'm fine."

She touched his face gently, reverently. "I did hurt you. I did something stupid and I've hurt you, haven't I?"

Della brushed away her tears. They traced the corner of her mouth, and her lips parted slightly. "It wasn't you that hurt me. It's me, wanting more than I should."

Azkadellia searched his face as she licked her lips nervously. "Last night... Your kiss was a promise, wasn't it?"

"It doesn't have to be."

"But it was. I _wanted..._ I don't know what I wanted. But whatever it was, I wanted it. I still want it."

"Don't ask me this," Della murmured softly. "There's no taking it back if you regret it."

"I won't," Azkadellia whispered. She leaned in softly and kissed his lips. "I promised you, too."

Della kissed her back, hot and open and greedy. She would change her mind, he was sure. She would change her mind and she would want Callan. He was the expressive one. He knew how to love, had done it once before. Azkadellia wouldn't want the stoic one, the cold one, the one with the will of iron that was twice as tough to crack.

Her hands fluttered across his chest, catching hold of his uniform shirt. She moaned against his mouth, pressing herself against him almost desperately. He could feel her desire, could almost catch the scent of her. Della caught the edge of her nightgown and lifted it up, baring her to the cool night air. He slid his fingers across her skin, tracing the curve of her bottom. Azkadellia moaned, gasping, his shirt caught tight in her fist. Della slid his tongue into her mouth, and she welcomed him.

_Dear God, she does want me,_ he thought, amazed. He cupped her bottom and pulled her closer to him. She let go of his shirt just long enough to wrap her arms around his shoulders for balance. Della's entire body hummed from the contact with her, the knowledge that she wanted him, that she trusted him. He pulled her tighter, closer, as if he could pull her body inside of his. They tumbled backward onto her bed, rolling over until Della was on top of her. The nightgown was pulled tight over her torso, her lower body bare to his gaze when he pulled back. Azkadellia looked at him questioningly, almost uncertain of herself.

"Help me," he murmured, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. His fingers were trembling, and he almost couldn't put the buttons through. Her deft fingers finished off the buttons, but they faltered at his belt buckle. She looked up at him, blushing, not sure of what to do next. Della finished the rest of his clothing, so that he knelt in front of her stark naked.

Azkadellia couldn't help but stare. "Um... I..."

"I can stop," he told her, voice quiet. He could push the need away. He could will his traitorous body to be silent and still.

"It's not that. I haven't ever..."

Della drew her nightgown over her head. She shivered under his gaze, but didn't shrink away from him. "No one explained anything to you?" She shook her head, almost ashamed, her eyes fixed on his jutting erection. "The first time hurts. I'll try to lessen that."

Azkadellia looked up and locked eyes with him. She smiled self consciously. "I trust you."

He kissed her again, burning with need. Her hands were everywhere, feeling the shape of his muscles along his back, feeling the knobs of his spine through his skin. He cradled her, laying her gently down on the bed. He touched her reverently, tracing the curves of flesh as if memorizing them. He kissed his way down the line of her jaw and throat, until he reached the valley between her breasts. He suckled one breast, then the other, his fingers sliding down her stomach to the juncture of her thighs. Azkadellia drew in a startled breath when his fingers found her, wet and wanting, thrumming with need. Della traced her damp folds before sliding a finger inside her. She was tight, virginal, and he wanted to be careful. Azkadellia closed her eyes at the sensation of his mouth at her breast and his fingers at her core, stroking her to fever pitch. It was different, new, a different kind of intense. She could feel herself coil inward and tighten, her fingers digging into his shoulder muscles as if she was about to fall off of the bed. She was gasping, moaning, bucking against his touch. She could barely hear her panting pleas over the rush of blood in her ears, the harsh gasping breathing she couldn't control. She was on fire, and Della was only stoking the flames.   
She came, and Della didn't let up. He continued to stroke her swollen clit, to slide a finger inside of her. She was a little bit looser and slick to the touch. She was getting close again, and the sound of her moans made him twitch in response. Della positioned himself over her, cock poised by her entrance. Azkadellia was writhing on the bed beneath him, sheets fisted in her hands when he rose to his knees. He looked over her lush, flushed form, and thrust deeply into her when she looked ready to come again.

It was uncomfortable and almost on the edge of painful. Azkadellia gasped, eyes flying open. Della wasn't moving, the strain evident on his face. He continued to stroke her clit, as if nothing untoward had happened, and Azkadellia let go of the sheets long enough to grasp his hips. She made a soft moaning sound as she dug her fingers into his hipbones, pulling him closer. "I want..." she panted, not sure how to complete the sentence. "I need you."

Della began to thrust into her, eyes sliding shut at the sensation of it. He was grunting, groaning and trying to keep from going as fast as he wanted to. She made soft mewling noises, and it was a cross between pleasure and discomfort. She was stretched wide, but his fingers teased her mercilessly, and the pain quickly receded. Azkadellia found herself close to her peak again, and it was difficult for her to breathe. She was panting, clutching at him almost desperately, moaning almost incoherently. "Paul," she whispered, almost pleadingly, not understanding what she was asking for. He thrust harder, faster, fingers still moving over her clit. Azkadellia's eyes rolled back and she shuddered violently as she came, pulsing all around his cock. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Another few thrusts and he came as well.

Azkadellia felt him settle on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight. She wrapped her arms around him as she tried to remember how to breathe. "Oh. That's what it's like."

His breath was warm and ticklish against her neck as he chuckled. "It can be, when it's right."

She stroked the back of his head gently. "Thank you," she murmured softly. He raised his head and looked at her questioningly. "You never treat me like the monster I think I am."

"That's because you're not, Princess," he told her gently. "Go back to sleep. I'll be here with you for a little while longer."

Her eyes slid shut and she could feel his heart beat just above hers. She felt safe, and all the worries from the evening seemed to have bled away.

Smiling, she slept easily.

***  
***


	10. Difficult Decisions

The enchanted map easy to follow, and there was a simple way through the cavern network labeled Bloodrock Mountain Pass. The Boiling Crater was a blasted area above them with a poisonous geyser. There was no need to encourage Ozma to walk faster through the Pass, as she turned out to be afraid of the dark. She clutched tightly to DG's arm as they walked through the Pass toward Wyvern Coil Ridge. Coil Keep was marked on the map next to the Pass' exit. All three hoped that there would be some kind of hospitable reception there.

Ozma looked up at the imposing façade of Coil Keep. "This looks familiar. I don't know why."

Unsettled, Cain took the massive doorknocker in hand and tapped it on the plate three times to announce their presence. Its surface was dirty and the metal was rusted over. Still, the central part of the doorknocker didn't feel like metal. When there was no immediate answer, he began to pick at the dirt with his fingernails, scratching it away.

The doorknocker gleamed green. It was made of solid emerald.

Ozma frowned. "But we're not in Emerald City," she protested, looking at the stripe of brilliant green in front of them. "And even the Emerald City isn't called that anymore."

DG frowned at the building. "So do we try to get in? Or do we wait?"

Ozma was about to say something when Cain shushed her. "I hear something."

It was a shuffling sound, slow and methodical. The massive door swung open slowly, and an orange pumpkin-headed creature stepped into view. "Hello?"

Ozma squealed in delight and threw herself at the creature. On closer inspection, he looked awfully like Peter Pumpkinhead, left behind in the Hall of Mirrors. "Jack!"

DG frowned at Cain in confusion. "Jack? But we met a Peter?"

"Oh, that's my son," Jack replied proudly. "Come in, come in. There aren't many of us here in Coil Keep, but whatever we have is yours to share with us."

"Thank you for the hospitality," Cain said, tipping his hat in respect.

DG gave Jack a nod of thanks. "Thanks. I'm really hungry."

Cain rolled his eyes and ushered her into the Keep. Ozma was very nearly jumping up and down like a small child, keeping hold of Jack's hand. She was trying to describe the events in the Hall of Mirrors, of the hallways and the Obsidian Border. Her words were jumbled, tripping over each other in her haste to tell the story. Still, Jack nodded in all the right places and seemed to understand what she was trying to say.

"That's my boy. A bud off the old gourd." He grinned, obviously proud of Peter's ability to stand guard and defend Ozma.

"Perhaps you could tell us about this place?" DG asked sweetly. "Tik Tok said there were great stories to tell, and we never did get a chance to find out what they were. Maybe you could tell us over dinner?"

"That's a wonderful idea!" Jack cried, pleased. "It's been a long time since we've had visitors here. For the last millennia we've been on the other side of the Zone." He led them down the main corridor to a large hall. The walls were barren and austere, and there were thick layers of dust coating cobwebs on the rafters and wall sconces.

"How old are you, Jack?" DG asked, eyeing the dust uncertainly.

"Oh... I've been reanimated off and on, so I really couldn't tell you. But this particular animation period is at least three thousand years or so. While Dorothy was around."

"Can you tell us about her?" DG asked. Ozma looked irritated by the question, but remained silent and didn't discourage Jack.

"Dorothy? Well, she looked a lot like you, actually. And she was brave. She marched right into Oz with her friends to speak with the Wizard. He stole the throne, you know. And the Wizard left soon after. But the King was old, and Ozma had already been kidnapped. She didn't know that, or I'm sure she wouldn't have left when she did."

"Why? What happened?" DG prompted.

"Well, the Scarecrow was left King. He got brains and wisdom. He was sharp as a tack and a fistful of needles. He judged the people fairly, and didn't need fear to do it." Jack shrugged. "I did miss a portion of his reign since I wasn't animated for it."

"Really?"

"Mm hm. And Mombi took over ruling the Emerald City. It didn't look so much like emeralds at that point. And there were the Wheelers..."

"Don't," Ozma pleaded. "I don't like them. They're scary!"

"All right," Jack agreed amiably. "I won't mention them." He turned to DG. "A very bad gang stalked the city. It wasn't safe to go out. The guards were gone or in hiding, the maidens couldn't go out for fear that Mombi would take their heads... It was a very bad time. The Nome King rose to power in the Scarecrow's absence. He wasn't a very nice leader."

"But Dorothy returned," Cain guessed.

Jack nodded, his large pumpkin head wobbling on his narrow neck. "I'm not sure what let her know she was needed. Bellina didn't know, either. But they traveled back there to Oz by storm, and helped pick the pieces back up. She left the Scarecrow in charge again, but had the city's key so she could come back more easily. I think."

"But wait a minute," DG interrupted. "This isn't Oz, and you were in Oz before. So how did you get here?"

"Ozma, of course. The Scarecrow was in charge, but not in name. Ozma was back. Dorothy pulled her out of the mirror and gave her a chance to rule Oz the way she should have." Jack shrugged. "It wasn't what she liked, though. So when Dorothy came back that last time, Ozma gave her all the royal powers and privileges then left."

"Auntie Lurlaine thought this might be a good place for me," Ozma piped up. "She lives in the Dawn Sanctuary, and these outlying lands aren't so far to explore sometimes."

"But this time it is."

"Oh, but it's easy enough to get to the Dawn Sanctuary if you have magic or fairy blood. Queen Lurlaine would have to let fairies in."

"Why is that?" Cain asked, confused.

"Because she's the Queen of the Fairies, silly," Ozma cried, interrupting Jack. "Didn't I tell you that before?"

"No," Cain replied, almost irritated.

"Oh. Auntie Lurlaine has magic. She has lots and lots of magic, and she's Queen of all the fairies in all of the lands. They have to do whatever she says, because her word is law." Ozma was practically skipping along like a small child. "She's always nice to me, though. She lets me stay even though I don't have any magic and gave it all away."

"To Dorothy," Jack added. "So it was for a very worthy cause."

"I think so," Ozma replied, nodding. "I certainly love Oz, but I don't think I made a very good ruler while I was there."

"There were other concerns," Jack offered respectfully. "Dorothy just had a different approach."

"Good negotiating words," DG said appreciatively. Jack grinned from the praise. "So where's this food you promised us?"

Jack continued to lead them through the mostly empty keep. They finally reached the kitchens, which appeared to be the only clean and lively place. There were kitchen staff in every corner, hustling and bustling to make extraordinary amounts of food.

"Whoa, buddy. Who's all that food for? Hungry as I am, I can't eat all that," DG protested.

"Oh, it's not for you. This is to feed the wyvern. But I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing a little bit with you since you're hungry, too."

"The wyvern," DG repeated dumbly. Ozma made a soft shrieking noise.

"Yes. The wyvern of Wyvern Coil Ridge. Did you think it was just a name?"

"Um... Yes?"

"Oh, no. The wyvern is there, sleeping. If he gets too hungry, his stomach rumbles and shakes the earth. Sometimes he's so mad that he will breathe fire and smoke, just to let us know."

"Sounds like stories to explain away earthquakes and volcano eruptions," DG commented. She vaguely remembered something about those kinds of stories in her English lit classes at college.

"If you like, you can meet our wyvern. He's very real, and can get very cranky when he's not fed regularly." Jack smiled. "He likes princesses."

Ozma squealed and ran around to hide behind Jack. "Don't let him eat me!"

DG's mind went straight to the gutter, and she smirked at Cain. "Well, maybe he's just lonely."

"I thought so, too," Jack said reasonably.

"And?"

"He doesn't like the smell of pumpkin," Jack replied with a shrug. "So we haven't been able to have any conversations and the others in the castle are all afraid of him."

"Maybe I will see this wyvern, then," DG said, smiling.

Cain glowered at her. "We should get to the Dawn Sanctuary."

"If we're nice enough," DG began reasonably. "Maybe the wyvern can _fly_ us there."

"I'd be too scared," Ozma said timidly. "I don't like heights. Or wyverns."

"Well, you haven't met this one, so you really couldn't know, right?" DG reasoned. "But anyway. Let's eat first. We'll decide what to do on a full stomach."

DG sat down, Cain and Ozma on either side of her, and dug in. She was really hungry, and the food was tasty. Ozma didn't eat anything, and Cain let the servants bring DG food. He took up a sealed bottle of water from one of the counters and started to drink. He noticed that after a while DG was slowing down and nearly swaying sleepily in her seat. Ozma merely looked at her helplessly, and Jack didn't look very surprised at all.

"What have you done?" Cain asked in a low voice.

Jack stepped back and nodded at them, his head bobbing about almost dangerously. "I do enjoy the visit," he began, voice almost apologetic. "But you must understand, truly you must. The wyvern must be fed, and the most delicate morsel is princess."

"Jack!" Ozma screeched, disgusted. "That's horrible."

Jack nodded at a servant against the wall. He came forth, menacingly, sharp kitchen knife in hand. Cain easily sidestepped him and then struck him as he passed. The servant almost had a zombielike quality to him, and didn't seem to see Cain at all. Ozma merely stood there, mouth in a perfect O of horror. DG was pitching headfirst into the table, falling asleep.

"We do what we must," Jack said grimly, turning sad eyes to Ozma. "There are troubled times ahead, and we must have the wyvern on our side. Otherwise, we all perish."

Cain took the knife from the lumbering servant. He noticed missing fingers on one hand, and peeling skin. The servant looked more like a bloated corpse than a servant. Testing him, Cain spun him around in a different direction. He wound up lumbering off and out of the kitchen, never realizing he had been three feet from his quarry.

"He was dead, wasn't he?"

"Most of them are," Jack said, nodding. He patted his chest pocket. "Ozma isn't the only one with the magic powder. It's been thousands of years since anyone visited us. The wyvern has to be fed. The witches have to be appeased. What would you have done?"

"Let the dead rest in peace. There has to be another way."

Jack looked over at the sleeping princess and Ozma's frightened face. "No, there really isn't," he replied sadly. He looked up and gave Cain a bittersweet smile. "That's all right. You'd be a wonderful addition to my army."

Cain never saw it coming.

***

"I guess a good night's sleep helped calm things down a bit," Callan offered when they all paused for a break later that morning. Azkadellia blushed slightly and couldn't quite meet his eyes. "It's all right," he continued. "You were pretty worried. I forgive you."

Azkadellia looked up and smiled. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."

Della moved off into the distance, ostensibly to scout their perimeter or start looking for game. "Be back in a few," he called out as he left. It was more warning than he usually gave at that time of day.

Azkadellia sat and wondered what to do next. Actually, she had been worried about it all morning. She cared about both men. She thought about the way they made her feel, the way her body sang under their touches. How could she possibly choose between them?

Callan sat down beside her. She hadn't even realized it, and was startled. He smiled at her wide eyed expression and pushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You're nervous about this. Or about me? You've barely looked at me all morning."

She tried to smile, but it came out strained. "I... I know I should have..."

He kissed her then, open and full of longing. Azkadellia clung to him, trying to tell him without words how she felt. She responded to his kiss, opening her mouth beneath his. One hand was at her back, steadying her. The other was at her dress, dipping below the neckline. He easily found her nipples, pebbling under his touch. She moaned, leaning further into his touch. She had to hold onto his shoulders for balance. It felt as if the world was spinning out of control, as if everything was tilting on its axis around her. _What a slut,_ the witch's voice told her. _Two men? You little evil whore. Look at you, stringing them along..._

She broke the kiss, gasping for air. Callan moved to kiss her jaw, his hand still beneath her bodice. His kisses were feather light, and the stirrings of longing began deep in her belly. It was a slow fire beginning to burn, and now she knew what that longing was for. Azkadellia ran her fingers through his hair, subtly encouraging him to continue. "What do you need?" he asked, voice breathless by her ear. "What do you want?"

"You," she whispered, turning her head slightly to give him better access to her neck. Her breath came in hitching gasps. "I need... It burns," she whispered plaintively. She felt almost ashamed to ask for what she wanted. The witch's voice loomed large in the back of her mind.

"Where?" Callan asked, tongue flicking out to taste her earlobe.

She jerked slightly in his arms, gasping at the contact. She clutched at the arm keeping them upright, tugging at it. Callan adjusted his position so he wasn't leaning on the arm, and let her drag it down her front. Azkadellia blushed fiercely, unable to meet his eyes as his fingertips brushed past her belly to rest at the juncture of her thighs.

"I gotta warn you, Princess," Callan whispered against her ear. "I'm a talker. Always have been." She shivered in his arms, and he licked the outer shell of his ear. She gasped at the contact, and Callan slowly drew her skirt up past her thighs. "So you want me _there,_ hm? How do you want me? Do you want me to taste you? I rather liked the taste of you." He licked her ear again, sending shivers through her. Callan traced the edge of her stockings, then drew circles into the skin of her thigh. He took her earlobe between his teeth as he stroked the inside of her thigh, then touched the thin scrap of silk between her legs. "Or maybe you want this?" Callan traced her folds through the damp silk, and Azkadellia made soft mewling sounds as she curled around him. He moved the silk aside and slowly slid a finger inside of her. It was easier to do so now, and he wondered if that meant Della had bedded her already. Callan wasn't about to ask, wasn't about to question why she would want him now if she had already been with Della.

"What do you want, Princess?" he asked, voice rough with desire. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," she moaned, nearly sobbing with need. "I want more of this, please."

Callan chuckled and slid the finger inside of her in and out, slowly. "Since you asked so nicely," he began, voice breathy by her ear. She moaned, head falling back. "Do you like this, Princess?" he asked, sliding his wet finger along her clit. She made a choking noise and nodded desperately. "I remember how good you tasted. You liked that a lot."

"You didn't... talk this much," she gasped, looking at him almost accusingly.

"I was otherwise occupied," he told her cheekily, grinning. He slid the finger back inside of her, and she moaned. "Don't you like it? You're so wet for me. I think you like it."

Azkadellia grabbed hold of his shoulders for balance. She felt like she was falling, like she was crashing down. "I want more..." she gasped.

She whimpered when he slipped his hand out from between her legs. She wanted to cry with frustration or push him way. He knelt down in front of her, then slipped her panties down from her hips. He rolled the skirt of her dress up and tucked it into her bodice. Now she wanted to laugh from the absurd picture she made, her long legs sprawled in front of him. Callan gave her a wry smile as he dragged one of her hands to the bulge in his pants. "This is more, Princess. Are you sure?"

"Yes," she moaned, caressing him through the fabric. "Please."

He groaned and opened the front of his pants. Without even stripping them completely naked, he slid himself inside her wet heat. He sank down to the root, sighing in pleasure. "Ah," he said softly, "You feel _wonderful."_

Azkadellia felt stretched and full, almost uncomfortably so. Then he began to move, and it felt like she could see stars behind her eyes. With every stroke, he slid deeply inside of her, whispering how good she felt and how much he wanted her to call his name when she came. Azkadellia could only hold onto him for dear life, unable to breathe from the sheer force of the pleasure building up inside of her. His words drowned out the witch's screams in the back of her head, those awful names she couldn't help but remember. She dug her heels into his buttocks, driving him deeper inside of her. She groaned, head thrown back.

"Princess," he whispered against her ear. "Call my name. You're close, I can feel it. You're so tight around me, so good..."

"C-Callan," Azkadellia moaned, bringing her head forward. It was now in line with her torso, pressed tightly against his.

"Benji," he corrected, short of breath. He kissed her, mouth hot and open, tongue sliding inside to taste her briefly. "Ben."

"Benji," Azkadellia whimpered. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, almost painfully, as she felt her body begin to tighten around him. It was enough to make him come, spilling into her like a young schoolboy, but he had to keep going. She was _this close,_ and it would be cruel to leave her that way.

"Come for me," Callan crooned into her ear. "Come for me, Princess. Show me what you look like. Call my name."

"Benji," she moaned, mouth close to his ear as well. She nipped his earlobe playfully, as he had done with hers. "Benji," she repeated, eyes sliding shut as the pleasure became even more intense. "I'm... Ben, I'm..."

"Come," he crooned, thrusting even harder. "I've got you. I've got you."

With a strangled cry, Azkadellia came, spasming all around his sensitive cock. She collapsed into his waiting arms, panting for breath. Callan gently laid her down on the ground. After a moment, he pulled out of her and began to clean her up with a handkerchief and the drier parts of her panties.

She pushed herself to a sitting position and helped Callan rearrange her skirt. "I suppose there's no point in getting those back," she murmured, indicating the soaked panties in Callan's hand.

He laughed. "Probably not. I kind of like the idea of knowing you don't have anything on under there but stockings." He only laughed harder when she flushed crimson.

Della came trudging back through the forest and saw Azkadellia's flushed face, tousled hair and rearranged clothing. He couldn't help the stabbing lance of jealousy that shot through him. She must have regretted the night before. She must have moved on.

Azkadellia flinched at the stony expression on Della's face. Callan noted it and turned around. "Hey. You got anything tasty for lunch?"

"Rabbit," Della replied curtly. He was ashamed of himself, of allowing things to go this far. Maybe he hadn't quite understood what their relationship meant. Maybe he wasn't as good as he thought he was, able to see her with Callan. It hurt him more than he had been willing to consider, and it was too late to take it back.

Azkadellia wanted to cry. She didn't know what she had done, but obviously she had done something horrible. "I could leave," she said, voice hoarse. "I'll go on by myself."

"Don't be silly," Callan exclaimed, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Absolutely not!" Della thundered at the same time.

Both men stared at each other, then looked at Azkadellia. The fluttering, excited feelings in the pit of her stomach under Callan's touch were curdled and poisoned now. She was almost visibly retreating into herself, much as she had prior to the start of their trip. "I'll leave. It isn't safe for either of you anyway."

Della resisted the urge to bellow at her. Callan didn't bother. He shot to his feet and glowered at her. "What the hell was that, then? Some kind of twisted goodbye?"

If it was even possible, she seemed to shrink even further into herself. "I should go. I didn't mean... This wasn't... I need to leave now."

Callan caught her arm before she even took a step. "Princess, don't."

"I can't do this," she said, wrenching her arm away from him. Her voice broke and she couldn't meet their eyes. "I can't."

"Can't do what?" Della asked, voice even.

She flinched at his words. She looked up at them only after taking a bracing breath for courage. "I won't have you arguing with each other. I won't have you fighting or angry with each other because of me. I'm not worth it. I'll fight the Ice Witch alone."

"We're not fighting," Della said evenly. His eyes never left her face, the misery etched there.

"We've already agreed to abide by your decision," Callan told her brightly.

"What?" she asked, unable to believe her ears.

"While you were talking to the Gray Gale, we were talking to each other," Callan said. "Novel idea, isn't it? And we both agreed that the choice is yours. You decide who you like more, the one you want attentions from. The other will back off."

Azkadellia didn't think it was possible to feel so small and despicable as she did at that point. Ashamed, her heart was breaking to pieces. She looked from one expectant face to the other, shaking her head desperately. "I can't..."

"You don't need to decide now," Callan assured her. "I told you, I'll take whatever attention you choose to give me. I've lived with less. Della's a strong one. We'll take it well."

Tears sprang to her eyes. They deserved better than her, someone pure and whole, not someone broken, naïve and tainted. "I can't choose," she choked out, shaking her head. She backed up a step, then two, nearly tripping over her own feet. "I can't."

"Or won't?" Della asked, eyebrow rising quizzically.

Azkadellia looked from one to the other, face contorted in desperation as she tried not to cry in front of them. She couldn't do that, not after what they had given her. For a while, she had almost hoped she was worthy of someone's care, that she could be loved. This only reminded her that she was that horrible bitch the witch called her, the selfish whore who only thought of herself. All she did was hurt people, and the knowledge was tearing her to pieces.

"I _can't_ choose," she ground out once she realized neither man was backing down. "I care about you both. It's different. It's not one gets more or less. I just can't."

All three seemed frozen in place at her words. There was no taking them back now.

"Well," Callan began slowly, drawing out the syllable into almost three. "I'm all right with sharing if you are."

"What?" Azkadellia breathed, unable to believe her ears. Della merely shot Callan an incredulous look, but remained silent.

"I'm not kidding," Callan replied. "You can't choose. I meant what I said about taking whatever I can get from you. So we share you. I'm fine with that arrangement."

Azkadellia's jaw dropped as Della seemed to mull it over. "It's not ideal, I suppose," he said finally. He took in Azkadellia's shock, the tears that had threatened to fall. "But I can live with it. I want your happiness, Princess. Azkadellia." He looked over at Callan and thumbed in his general direction. "Just don't expect me to kiss that fool and we're fine."

Her bark of startled laughter shocked her. She covered her mouth with her hands and looked from one to the other. "It's not awful of me? Not selfish? It won't hurt you?"

Della came closer and took her face in his hands. "It hurts more to think you've rejected me, even if I think Callan is a close second."

"Hey. I resemble that remark. I think," Callan teased. He leaned in next to Azkadellia, dropping his chin to her shoulder. "I just want you happy, Princess."

"Delia," Azkadellia murmured. "I'd like it if you both called me Delia."

"Is that your nickname?" Della asked, curious.

"Only for the two of you."

Callan slid an arm around her waist and burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. Della pressed his lips against her cheek, his hands coming to rest over the slope of her breasts, the heel of his hands over her nipples. Azkadellia didn't even dare to breathe, in case this was all an illusion. She didn't deserve to be this lucky, this loved. She didn't deserve this treasure. She should have been shouted down or called names. She was the horrid creature everyone said she was, but these two simply couldn't see it.

"I love you," Callan murmured against her neck. He didn't mind risking it all. That was the only way this arrangement of theirs could even work.

Azkadellia's breath hitched. "You can't. I'm poison."

His arm around her tightened as Della replied "Don't ever say that again, Delia. That's the witch talking, and we all know she was a liar."

Azkadellia tried to link an arm around each man. "I don't think I deserve either of you."

Callan snorted. "Sure you do. It's not like we're any prizes ourselves."

Della gave Callan a playful smack on the head. "Speak for yourself, moron."

Caught between a sob and a laugh, Azkadellia hiccupped. "Can this really work?"

"I think so," Callan said. He gave her neck a lick and then stepped back. "Can we have lunch now? I'm hungry." He didn't quail under Della's glare. "What? Sex is exercise, we're done with the drama and I'm hungry."

Della's lips quirked into a smile. "Delia, you should've chosen me. Now you're stuck with him, too." He easily ducked the twig Callan lobbed in his direction, laughing.

Azkadellia, still next to Della, felt his laughter roll through her. She looked from one face to another and could feel the tension in her easing somewhat. They were serious about the three of them working out some kind of relationship together.

Maybe she didn't have to break anyone's heart.

***  
***


	11. Clearing The Air

Groggy, DG rubbed at her face as she sat up. Only, her hand didn't actually get to her head and she found it was much too difficult to actually sit up. She opened her eyes slowly, willing the world to sit still. It didn't quite obey, and she groaned as things spun around her.

"He drugged you," Ozma said mournfully from somewhere on DG's right. "We're going to be wyvern food, and he lied to us." She sniffled, and it sounded as though she might have been crying for some time.

"How long was I out of it?" DG croaked, not bothering to try opening her eyes again.

"I don't know. It's dark in here," Ozma added in a tiny voice.

"Where are we?"

"They put us in a cave. It's part of the caverns, the part where the wyvern comes to when he starts getting hungry."

"I'm feeling nauseous," DG complained, trying her best to swallow down the feeling of her stomach rolling in waves. "Where's Cain?"

"Jack took him away."

"I don't understand. Why?"

"He said wyverns prefer princesses. That the wyvern has to be fed or else. And that Cain would be a good addition to his army."

"He'd never leave me alone here," DG protested, head jerking around toward the sound of Ozma's voice. She regretted the move instantly, and sank back to the floor. She could feel things more acutely now, and it seemed as though the floor was rough hewn stone and grit.

"They surrounded him and hit him on the head."

"You let them take him," DG said, voice dull and hopeless. Cain wouldn't have gone down without a fight. And the hopeless tone in Ozma's voice told DG that it had been a bad situation he had been in. It was probably just as well that she had been drugged. She wouldn't have wanted to see him get attacked.

"I couldn't do anything," Ozma replied primly. "I'm a princess. I'm here to be rescued or eaten by a wyvern."

DG snorted. "Fuck that. As soon as the world stops spinning, I'm getting the hell outta here."

"How are you going to do that?" Ozma asked, surprised. She was so surprised that she didn't even comment on the obscenities.

DG rubbed her wrists. The bonds weren't that tight, but they were tight enough to be irritating. Her legs weren't bound. She tried to shimmy as much as her spinning head would allow. If she could get her arms around to the front somehow, she could maybe gnaw on the rope. That was her plan. Whether she could do it or not was another story.

"What are you doing?" Ozma asked, her voice starting to get shrill.

"I'm trying to wriggle out of the rope."

"Oh. Here, let me untie that for you, then."

DG was dumbfounded when she felt Ozma's fingers fly over the ropes at her back. "You weren't tied up?"

"They knew I couldn't fight them so they didn't try."

"Why am _I_ tied up, then?" DG cried, indignant.

"It was easier to grab hold of you and sling you over the horse that way," Ozma explained. "None of Jack's army has magic. They were dusted with magic powder, but they don't have any magic themselves."

_Like you,_ DG thought. She kept it to herself; Ozma was already self conscious about it enough, and had tried her best to teach DG how magical theory worked.

There was a rumbling sound beneath them, echoing through the caverns. Ozma's fingers at her wrists stilled, then she rapidly pulled at the ropes. "That must be the wyvern," she squeaked, terrified. "He's going to eat us."

"I doubt we're tasty," DG muttered. The darkness spun around as Ozma tried to pull her to her feet. After all, the caverns were huge, so the wyvern must be large as well.

"Please, Dorothy," Ozma pleaded, her voice spiraling up in terror. "Please, I don't know the way out of here."

Cain had the map. And even if DG had it, she couldn't see straight at the moment.

DG sighed. "I don't know the way out, either."

There was a soft chuckle from somewhere off to DG's left. Ozma spun them both around, and DG couldn't tolerate the rapid movement. Ozma's grip was loose on her arm, so DG fell to the ground when she swayed too far. She landed on her hands and knees and began retching. Even though she had eaten a fair amount in the Keep's kitchen, nothing was coming up. She supposed she should be grateful; everything tasted worse coming back up.

Ozma made a squeaking noise. "Who was that?"

DG could hear the clicking of nails on the stone floor. It sounded almost like dog nails clicking on a tile floor. Her blood ran cold at the sound. The wyvern?

"I am Ybred Ine'che." The voice was oddly accented, and it was impossible to tell if it was supposed to be male or female.

"Do you eat princesses?" Ozma asked, voice tremulous with fear.

"I am not particularly fond of eating them, no," the wyvern replied. The clicking came forward, and DG tried opening her eyes again.

The wyvern didn't seem very large. It was perhaps the size of a SUV, with its tail curled around its body. It looked like any drawing of a dragon she had seen, only missing its front legs. It was silvery in color, with darker accents that could have been blue or green. It was hard to tell in the dark. Its snout wasn't that far away from the two women, and its eyes stared at them without blinking. Its claws had long, curved talons that were chipping into the stone floor. That explained the fine grit DG had felt.

"You were drugged," the wyvern said solemnly, looking at DG. "At first you seemed to be much more ill. You seem to be stabilizing."

"Uh... Thanks. I think. What are you exactly?"

The wyvern tilted its head. "What do you mean?"

"Boy or girl?" DG asked, not able to come up with anything that sounded less idiotic.

Its laughter was a rumble throughout the caverns. It certainly sounded scary, and DG could suddenly understand why Jack had thought that the wyvern would cause earthquakes and ridiculous amounts of damage to the countryside.

"I am female, if it matters."

"Huh," DG murmured, pushing herself to stand. "And what do we call you?"

"Ine'che is acceptable." The wyvern seemed fairly amused. "I am a princess as well."

"Is that why you won't eat us?" Ozma ventured, still frightened.

"I eat _princes,"_ the wyvern replied haughtily. "And only those properly prepared for sacrifice, not drugged out of their senses and hogtied." She sniffed and settled her head back down on the cavern floor. "No one knows the value of a good sacrifice any longer. It's quite disheartening, let me tell you."

DG tried to wrap her drugged brain around that one and failed. She ultimately gave up. "Uh... How do we get out of here?"

"I can't see the way," Ozma piped up, hands curled up together in front of her like a child. "I can't remember how they brought us in."

The wyvern lifted a claw and pointed behind Ozma. "That way. It's a circuitous route, but it's easy enough to follow. The path is the clearest."

"Why not come with us?" DG offered. "You can kick their asses for torturing all of us this way."

She didn't seem very interested. "They are hardly sport."

"Well, it's got to be better than hanging around here all day," DG said reasonably. "It gets you out of the cave and out into the sky."

Ine'che seemed to yawn. "If I truly wanted to do something, I could always shift my shape or fly out of here. It doesn't seem worth the effort."

DG nearly goggled at Ine'che. "So... If we said we were trying to get to the Dawn Sanctuary... Is that motivation enough to come with us?"

"My Aunt Lurlaine is there," Ozma added.

Ine'che eyed Ozma warily. "Careful there, little one. Those of the Seelie Court of the Sidhe are not necessarily any better than the Unseelie. It wouldn't do to become caught up in their affairs. Blood matters little to one such as she, and her wrath is terrible to behold." If anything, Ine'che seemed more withdrawn than before.

"Well, Ozma says that her aunt can help me get back to where I need to go," DG said. She made a contrite face. "I ran away from the Outer Zone. And when Cain tried to get me to go back, I messed up the amulet with the travel storm spell, so we landed here. I can't figure out how I even made a storm in the first place, or I'd go back."

Surprisingly, DG actually meant what she said.

Ine'che seemed to ponder that. "Perhaps I may go with you, then. I would like to see this Outer Zone. I have no fondness for this place after Lurlaine allowed the hunting and extinction of my brothers and sisters. I am the last of my family, living in exile."

Ozma darted forward, uncertainly, and laid a hand on Ine'che's snout. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "I'll yell at Aunt Lurlaine for you."

"That is unnecessary, but thank you," Ine'che replied gracefully. She reared her head back slightly, and as she did so, her body seemed to ripple.

"Um... Are you feeling okay?" DG asked, concerned, stepping forward.

"I have need of a different traveling form."

DG and Ozma watched as the silvery scales seemed to ripple faster, contracting and spinning down as Ine'che's very flesh seemed to melt and pool. It finally reformed into that of a human girl with long silver hair and green eyes. She was stark naked and fairly curvy.

"You should conjure an appropriate dress," Ozma told DG primly. "No princess should ever wander about like that."

DG crossed her arms. "Ozma, think about it. There's always the element of surprise. Guys will stop and stare."

"Dorothy," Ozma began impatiently. "She's a _princess._ It's not proper."

"Just a thought," DG replied, raising her hands in a warding gesture.

"I have no need of such artificiality as of yet," Ine'che replied, voice arch. "Dorothy's plan has some merit to it."

"DG," DG corrected automatically. "I don't like my name."

"It's reminiscent of the fabled Queen of Oz."

Sighing, DG could only shake her head. "That's my greatest-great grandmother. She's who I'm named after."

"I pray you are a worthy recipient of the name," Ine'che replied, nodding gravely. "Let us go to the Keep. The usurping army should be driven out."

"Um... I know Jack was mean, but..."

"But what?"

"Can we not kill him? Please?"

"If you so wish," Ine'che replied, shrugging. "It doesn't matter to me as long as the keep pays for its allegiance to Lurlaine."

"This so doesn't sound good," DG muttered under her breath. Both of the other princesses ignored her as they began walking out of the caverns.

***

The mechanics of a relationship between three people were a bit of a negotiation. Azkadellia at first was going to put up two tents, but Della reminded her that there was no need for that. There was also no need for her to sit far away from the tin men at dinner time. That was probably the biggest adjustment for her; she was too used to being alone and apart from everyone else. "You know, I notice that you have a different dress each day and they're always still so very clean by the end of the night," Callan began, playing with one of Azkadellia's bell sleeves. "How do you do that?"

"There are cleansing spells that I've woven into the fabric," Azkadellia replied. She blinked. "I could probably do that to your uniforms, if you want."

"That would be helpful," Della replied, scraping the last of the refuse from dinner into the fire. "I feel like I'm covered in ashes half of the time."

"It doesn't stop you from feeling like you need a bath," Azkadellia clarified ruefully. She smiled and shrugged, trying to explain how the spell actually worked. "It's just that dirt and things like that won't stick to the cloth."

"Fascinating," Callan murmured. He took up a handful of dirt and rubbed it into Azkadellia's sleeve. The dirt fell to the ground as she squeaked in surprise, leaving none of it behind on the dress. "Hey. That's pretty interesting. I would definitely want that on the uniform."

"Well, you'd have to take it off," Azkadellia replied. She looked a bit embarrassed once she realized what she said, but Callan was more than willing to start taking off his shirt. "I didn't mean _now,_ Benji."

Della snorted and stood up. "And if this is heading anywhere with the both of you naked, I'm taking a walk. Callan doesn't do it for me."

"But Delia does," Callan joked. "You just look at her and ignore me."

Azkadellia covered her face with her hands. She was amused and mortified all at once, and didn't know who to look at. Callan tugged her hands down and kissed her on the mouth. She melted into his embrace, and let him pull her toward him. After a moment, she broke the kiss and looked around. "But Paul..."

"Is a big boy," Callan assured her. "He'll be all right. And if he wants to, he can join us."

"Um... How?"

Callan waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He pulled her to her feet and headed for the tent Azkadellia had set up. "We'll get creative."

Azkadellia felt a wave of heat curl through her belly at the sound of his husky voice. "Oh." She traced his lips with a fingertip. "You seem plenty creative to me."

He playfully nipped her earlobe. "Want me to show you?"

"Here? Now?"

"It's just Della around, and he knows." Callan tugged on the laces that kept the corset tight around her middle. They came undone easily, and he slipped his hands between the corset and the dress beneath it. He smiled at Azkadellia's indrawn breath. "I like hearing that," he murmured. "I like knowing you like this."

The dress itself was as simple to take off as it was to slide on. Callan laid her down on the bed after tossing aside the dress, settling himself down on top of her. He kissed his way down the side of her jaw to her neck, then down to her breasts. He suckled on one, making a contented noise when Azkadellia clutched the back of head and arched into his mouth. She was making her own little sounds of pleasure, and Callan slid his other hand down her belly to the juncture of her thighs. She was quickly growing damp, and he slid a finger inside of her. Azkadellia gasped and tilted her hips up slightly, giving him better access. He traced her folds, then slid his finger back inside of her. He moved it rhythmically as he sucked on her breast, and Azkadellia writhed beneath him in pleasure. He moved his finger inside her, his thumb against her moist clit. Her breath shattered as he crooked a finger inside her, and she came with a strangled groan. After a moment, she curled around him, trying to remember how to breathe again.

Callan kicked off his pants and stretched out on top of her again. He guided himself into her wet heat and thrust deeply inside of her. Azkadellia gasped and clutched at him, moaning at the feel of him inside of her. Callan could hear movement outside that had to be Della; now that they had the agreement going, he didn't have to hurry or stop. He instead moved to kiss Azkadellia, full and hot and hungry. She responded, an arm around his shoulders, the other around his back.

Della walked into the tent and did his best to ignore the writhing couple on the bed. Azkadellia's tent was rather nice, and he sat down at the couch, facing the wall away from the couple to give them a modicum of privacy. He pulled off his boots and started stripping himself, taking care to fold his uniform carefully. He turned his head when Callan collapsed on top of Azkadellia, nearly gasping as he came.

Azkadellia looked at Della then, almost apologetic. He climbed onto the bed and touched her cheek with his fingertips. "Delia," he murmured. "It's all right."

She covered his hand with hers and hoped he wasn't angry with her. "Paul..."

He briefly flicked his eyes at Callan. "Shove over, Callan. You're hogging the bed." With a grunt, Callan rolled over slightly." Della settled in next to Azkadellia. "I saw a river in the woods, if you both are interested in a bath tomorrow."

"I'd like that," Azkadellia replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "You'll be with me, of course."

Della burrowed into her side and kissed the side of her neck. It was silly, he wasn't some unschooled boy. Lying next to her, he wanted her right then. He moved over on top of her and began to kiss her. Her mouth opened beneath his, and Della thrust into her slick heat. He could hear Callan get up from the bed and start to get dressed. He assumed it was so that Callan could begin his shift guarding their camp.

"Sweet dreams," Callan called out, heading out of the tent. His voice was his usual even tempered one, and Della didn't think Callan was giving any thought to the fact that he was making love to Azkadellia immediately after. As much as Azkadellia seemed worried about it, Della could ignore the awkwardness. How else was he going to have time with her? They would simply have to learn to share.

Azkadellia made soft mewling noises, writhing beneath Della. She grabbed hold of his shoulders and tried to meet his thrusts. Her motions were frantic, and her fingers dug in deep. "I can't... Paul..." She was panting, head thrown back against the pillow. She tried to move against him, to lift her head and meet his gaze. "You feel... Paul... I can't."

Della seized her mouth with his and thrust into her harder and faster than before. He could feel her body start to tighten around his, and it was more than he could stand. He came, shuddering in her embrace. He didn't stop, knowing she hadn't come yet. When it became too much to bear, he reached between them to play with her clit. He kept at it until she came with a sharp cry, collapsing down onto the bed.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Azkadellia asked once they could breathe again, voice tremulous. "You're not upset with this?"

Della threaded his hands through hers and leaned into her. It was a little difficult seeing her with Callan, even though they had this understanding going. He imagined that it was difficult for Callan as well, but the man was honest about willing to take what he could get.

He wasn't about to say any of that. He simply smiled at her and nodded. "It'll take some getting used to, but I'm all right with this."

Azkadellia looked distressed. "Don't lie," she pleaded softly. "Please don't lie. Everyone else has, don't you start, too."

Della sighed. "I can be selfish, too, Delia," he began slowly. "But I want you to be happy. If it means sharing you with my best friend, I'll do that. I'm not going to argue with him and I wouldn't want to take away from his happiness either." He kissed her lips softly. "Don't worry about us. If we can't take it, we'll back up. We're all grown ups in this."

She tightened her hands around his. "I haven't done this before," she whispered, almost frightened. "I don't want to hurt either of you."

"It's new for us, too," Della admitted. "We'll figure it out as we go along. Now, come on, let's go to sleep. Before you know it, it's going to be my turn to stand watch. And then morning will come, and we have to head north."

"I'm going to protect you from the witch," Azkadellia promised.

Della smiled, touched. "I know you will."

Comforted, they slept until Callan returned at the end of his shift. He managed to wake Della without disturbing Azkadellia, then slipped into the warm bed beside her. She didn't stir, but snuggled into Callan's embrace. He laughed at Della's disgruntled expression, then waved him off. "The tent won't guard itself, you know," Callan said, careful not to wake Azkadellia.

"Sometimes you're a jerk, Callan."

"I love you, too, man," Callan replied, grinning. He wrapped his arms around Azkadellia and settled in for the rest of the night.

***  
***


	12. Dreaming of Now

The riverbank wasn't that far away from the camp that Azkadellia had made. The river itself was meandering along, with water clear enough to see to the bottom. It was deep, and Azkadellia supposed the waterline would rise past her waist. She had set spells into the tin men's clothing that morning before setting out, and their uniforms did look cleaner than they had earlier. She easily unhooked her clothing with spare efficiency borne of years of dressing and undressing herself. She looked up as she stepped into the water, suddenly aware that both men were simply staring at her and not moving. "What?"

Callan stammered for a moment. Della merely shrugged. "I know you said you take care of the clothes yourself, but somehow I didn't think it was possible to look that polished without a dozen maids to take care of things."

Azkadellia snorted indelicately and waded into the river. "She never trusted any of the servants, let alone a dozen. We still had to look presentable at court."

Not the royal we, they knew, but the possessed we. It was sobering.

Callan's mouth ran dry as he watched Azkadellia move through the water. The awkwardness she had was gone. She was fluid, as if part of the water, as if she were some kind of sea creature that had found its way into the river. Her expression was far away, a sensuous twist to her lips as she moved, nearly dancing as she waded into the deepest part of the river. "Wow."

Della nearly laughed at Callan's expression, but didn't. He was almost as star struck at the sight; if he hadn't already dreamed of her this way, he would have been frozen on the spot. "Hopeless, isn't it? We're stuck in this arrangement."

"Until she's sick of us," Callan agreed. "Regretting it already?" he asked, looking over at Della. His face was expressionless, but he was too still for comfort.

Della shook his head. "No. Awkward, but that'll fade, I'm sure." He looked over at Azkadellia, treading water with her hair spilling out around her, a dreamy smile on her face. "I think Kelly would have liked her."

"Probably," Callan replied heavily. He looked lost for a moment. "I haven't thought of her in years, and suddenly it's hard to forget. But there's things I've forgotten that I didn't mean to. The way she laughed at me, the way she looked that last morning. The names we picked. The house we bought. I can't remember those things anymore."

"It's probably just as well," Della said kindly. "Maybe it's not that you've forgotten, really, but that it's your way to realize it's time to move on. It's been almost eleven years. Kelly wouldn't want you hiding forever."

Callan looked over at Della. "You think so?"

"The woman would have my head on a pike if I steered you wrong on purpose, you know that," Della replied, shaking his head. "It's all right. You're not forgetting that she was ever there, and you're not pretending you never loved her. You just love someone else, too."

"How did you get to be an expert on this?"

"Watching you fail miserably at it," Della replied cheekily. Grinning at Callan, he stripped down and plunged into the river. He almost had to swim to get to where Azkadellia was lounging in the water, smiling to herself and basking in the snatches of sunlight falling through the breaks in the trees overhead. "Delia? You look comfortable."

"Aliana was a water witch," Azkadellia replied, not opening her eyes. She liked the feel of the sun on her face. The witch hadn't let her do simple things like that in a long time, and it felt wonderful. "Before she fell into the darkness, she could manipulate water." Azkadellia threaded her hand through the flowing water, and it followed her movement. It didn't fall back into the river the way water normally would, but lingered across her skin before falling back down in a graceful arc. She curled her fingers into her palm, and the water stopped moving around her. The edges by the riverbank continued to flow normally, but the waters parted around her in a rough circle, its edge approximately two feet from her. Azkadellia opened her eyes and smiled serenely at Della's stunned expression. "I know everything she knew."

Callan swam up to them and caught Azkadellia about the waist. "Okay, this? Creepy. Just so you know, Delia." He splashed water in her face, breaking the mood and laughing as she sputtered and wiped at her face. He pulled her against him, laughing.

Della smacked Callan on the shoulder. "Loser."

"Idiot," Callan returned playfully. He kissed Azkadellia on the shoulder and then dropped his chin down on top of it. "Look at you, getting all scared. And aren't you the one telling me you know better about relationships by watching me fail?" He cupped her breasts in his hands, pressing his front to her back.

"What do you mean?" Azkadellia asked, confused.

Callan sighed and pressed his lips against her neck. _Might as well. In for a penny..._ "I was married once."

Azkadellia took in Callan's cheerless tone and Della's somber face. "This is serious, then."

"That case I told you about?" Callan began, almost uncertainly. One of his hands slid down her front and settled on her hip.

"Should I tell her, then?" Della asked when he couldn't continue.

Callan shook his head, glad that he was behind her rather than facing her. He didn't know if he could tolerate a pitying look. "It was our first one out of the Academy. I was married almost a year by then. Her name was Kelly." He smiled wistfully. "She was seven months pregnant when those drug fiends went into that shop. Those four murders I told you about? She was one of them. She fought back," he added quickly once he heard Azkadellia's indrawn breath. "They must have been upset, because her body was the worst one." He pressed his face against her damp hair, inhaling her scent. With a pang, he realized that he couldn't remember Kelly's. "They didn't count the child as a death for the record. There was no one else available to go over the crime scene, just us, and we had to do it as if we didn't know her, as if we hadn't all just gone shopping to set up the nursery the day before."

Azkadellia turned in his arms and held him tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Callan replied, kissing the tip of her nose. He couldn't quite meet her gaze. "As Della pointed out, it's been nearly eleven years."

"It still hurts you," Azkadellia told him, taking his face in her hands. "I'm sorry it hurts." She could feel Della move up behind her, a settling presence. "She had to have been special," she murmured softly, almost sadly. She didn't think she could compare to a ghost.

"She'd have liked you," Della murmured, dropping his hands onto her shoulders. He gave them a supportive squeeze. "A brave fighter, like you."

Azkadellia turned around and shot him an incredulous look. "I'm no fighter."

"You're going to fight the Ice Witch, aren't you?" he countered archly. "You did what you could to fend off the witch. That's fighting."

"I didn't do a very good job of it," Azkadellia said irritably. "I'm not brave. I was still possessed and everyone still hates me and I'm terrified I'm going to fail."

Della cupped her face in his hands. "Terror keeps you honest. It isn't someone brave that goes into fight when they know they'll win. If you go in thinking you might lose and fight anyway, that's the true bravery. That you're taking this risk at all tells me you're a fighter." He kissed her, a soft, lingering one that did better to convey his feelings than any words could.

Callan's arms slid around her and he dropped a kiss at the base of her neck. "You know you're special, too, don't you?" he asked against her neck. "You're special to me."

Azkadellia could feel the water swirling past them, their growing erections pressed against her legs. Aliana had been the water witch, but her knowledge hadn't extended to relationships of any kind. "How can we do this?" she asked, voice trembling.

Callan slid a hand up to cup her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. "Very carefully."

Della slipped a hand between her thighs, then a finger inside her to judge her readiness. "Delia, we can make it work. Stop worrying."

"I can't help it. I want you both and I don't want to hurt either of you."

"Before we got here, when it was just you in the river, what were you thinking?"

"This felt perfect," Azkadellia replied softly. "This felt right."

"Just go with that," Callan told her, nipping her shoulder. "It _is_ right. For us, anyway."

"It's not ordinary," Azkadellia protested.

"So we're not ordinary people," Callan answered, shrugging. "I'm okay with that."

"You're okay with a lot of things," Della grumbled.

"True. And I've lived a good life so far that way," Callan returned, grinning. He nipped Azkadellia's shoulder again. "You, my dear, have to learn that skill."

"Is it a skill?"

"Mm hm," Callan murmured, moving to nip her earlobe. "A useful one."

Azkadellia arched her back, leaning into Callan. The warm sun felt delicious on her bare torso, and Della swooped down to suck on one breast while his fingers moved inside of her. She gasped, one arm slung around Della's shoulders and the other reaching behind her to touch the back of Callan's head. She could feel the liquid heat pool low in her belly, the fire begin to burn between her thighs. Her hands tightened around them, and she struggled for breath. She shut her eyes, sinking into the sensations of their mouths and hands and the sun's warmth falling down all around them. Della moved to reposition himself so that he could thrust into her and seized her mouth with his. Whatever doubts she had went scurrying back into the corner of her mind where the witch's voice lived.

Callan slid a finger along the curve of her bottom, then eased it inside her rear. Azkadellia gasped and nearly moved away; she couldn't get very far, as she was already skin to skin with Della. "Easy, Delia," he murmured next to her ear. "I'm taking it slowly."

Azkadellia took a deep breath to calm herself. It was silly, really. Of course Callan would be gentle with her. Of course he wouldn't do anything too stupid. She slipped her tongue between Della's lips, deepening their kiss to distract herself. Callan's other hand slid back up her torso to cup a breast, which helped also. She leaned into their embrace, trying not to think too much about what was happening. One part of her enjoyed their attentions, reveling in the feel of being loved for the first time in her life despite her glaring faults. The other part of her, the timid child the witch had enslaved, cowered in fear of what the Queen might think when she found out, or what the court might think. _Depraved slut,_ they'd say. _The corruption from the witch is still on her. You can't trust her._

But Cain had, and his friends had. And his friends had grown to love her even knowing about the witch's influence over her, even knowing about the dark magic she could still perform.

Callan moved slowly and deliberately, easing himself into her rear. She tensed, digging her nails into Della's shoulder. Della broke their kiss to hiss at Callan "Slower, idiot."

"Sorry," Callan said sheepishly, pressing his face into the crook of Azkadellia's neck. "I'm trying." He gave Azkadellia's nipple a light pinch. "Just too enthusiastic."

Azkadellia chuckled, leaning against Callan. "I take it that's a compliment."

"Whatever passes for one," he agreed, pressing a kiss against the underside of her jaw. He moved again, much more slowly this time. "Better?"

"This is... definitely new," she replied, not sure how to explain it. Callan gave an experimental shallow thrust, and Azkadellia couldn't help but tense up. Della sucked in a breath at the feel of it, his own hands tensing on her hips. "Oh, dear. How is this supposed to work?"

"Carefully, we said," Della murmured, beginning to move himself. "Slowly." He slid his hands around her hips to cup her bottom. He traced the undersides, then drew her thighs up. She crossed her legs around his waist, which opened her up more for Callan. Callan moved again, painfully slowly, not even daring to breathe. Azkadellia was tight and the pressure around his cock was almost too good to bear. "There, see? That works."

Azkadellia's breath came in short pants. "It... I think it does," she whimpered, feeling both of the men moving inside of her. Callan palmed her breasts and pressed kisses against her neck while Della kneaded her backside. Feeling some of that bravery that Della claimed she possessed, she grabbed hold of the back of his head to guide his face close to hers. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and kissed him with an ardor that sent him reeling. Della's thrusts grew faster, and Azkadellia tightened around him right before she came. Time spun out in all directions; the kiss was an eternity. Her mind was breaking down; she was losing track of time and place. There was nothing else but this, no past and present, no future and fear.

Callan had been moving slowly, thrusting shallowly and trying to keep himself in check. "So beautiful," he murmured around her earlobe as she nearly collapsed on top of him, licking the outer shell of her ear. He slowly laid down a track of kisses across her shoulders. It forced him to go slow, so agonizingly slow, to drag out the exquisite pleasure of her body. "You feel so good," he moaned against her ear. "I want you so much, Delia. You feel amazing," he said, nipping her earlobe again. Her whimpers were delicious to listen to, making his cock twitch inside of her. His thrusts deepened slightly, and Azkadellia mewled in pleasure. She writhed between them as the waves of heat built up again. Callan continued to move, deepening his thrusts until he was moving counter to Della. "I want you like this all the time," he whispered, stroking her nipples as he thrust inside of her. He could feel her body tighten again, could hear her gasp as she struggled for air. "That's it, Delia. Come for us."

With a sharp cry, she came again, this time falling forward onto Della. His jaw was clenched with the effort to keep from coming himself as she milked his cock inside her. "I won't last," he warned the others.

"Oh, good," Callan groaned, thrusting harder. "I thought it was just me."

Azkadellia held onto Della for dear life, her eyes closed and her head spinning. "I can't take so much more of this. It's too much."

"Just a little more," Della ground out, holding onto her tightly.

Callan nipped her shoulder and stroked a nipple. His other hand slid down her belly and found her clit. He stroked it in time with his thrusts, whispering "Close, Delia. Almost there."

She whimpered, head lolling. The pleasure was so intense it was nearly blinding. She came again, raking her nails across Della's shoulders. Her inner muscles worked him relentlessly, and he spilled inside her with a groan. The extra rocking was enough to tip Callan over, and he came as well, finishing off the cascade.

They remained still, clutching at each other as the river flowed past them. Slowly, they untangled their limbs and made their way back to the riverbank. Azkadellia wanted to curl into a little ball and sleep for a thousand years to regain her energy. Both the tin men seemed spent as well. "Okay, you were right," she admitted, leaning against a tree for support.

"Of course we were," Callan replied, fishing through the piles for his clothes. He straightened at Della's snort. "Wait, what were we right about?"

"That this would work out all right," Azkadellia said softly. She gave them a sad smile. "I really thought I would do something to drive you both away."

Della handed her the dress she had been wearing after shaking it out. He was still stark naked, but Azkadellia wasn't embarrassed by her reaction to his body any longer. "You have me until death," he promised her.

Callan took in her startled expression and chuckled. "I can't imagine trying to do a wedding ceremony between the three of us." He started buttoning up his shirt. "Then again, I don't think we need something like that to validate this."

"Would you want something? A ceremony of some kind?" Azkadellia asked, curious.

He shook his head and leaned against the tree next to her. "Nah. I don't need something public to announce that I love you. I just do. This is what it is." He kissed her cheek. "Now, as much as I love the naked look, I do think you need to get dressed. It'll get cold later."

Della shook his head as he dressed. Azkadellia threw her clothing back on, but Della tied the laces to her corset. He threaded his fingers through her damp hair, combing out the tangles. "Ignore that fool. He's just stupid by nature," he teased. He kissed the top of her head. "Remember, I'm the smart one in this bunch."

They found the path in the woods and headed north.

***

Cain cracked an eye open. He had been awake for some time, but hadn't heard anything to give any kind of indication of where he was. There was no way to tell where the princesses were, either. He should have kept his guard up, but he had been too distracted by DG sliding off the stool and the look of betrayal on Ozma's face. Relationships with those you protected were simply a bad idea; details and nuances were missed all too often.

He still couldn't regret a thing. DG was worth a whack on the head now and again. It wasn't as if he hadn't gotten hurt before.

He was in a prison cell, presumably the keep's dungeon. Cain slowly pushed himself to a sitting position and took a better look around the dungeon area. His cell was comprised of bars on all sides except the back wall, which was solid stone. He was in the middle of a cell block, and across a narrow hallway was another row of barred cells. Most were empty, but some contained bodies in various stages of decay. Two held skeletons, an arm still hanging from a wall cuff. Lit torches lined the narrow hallway and an archway leading out of the hall of cells. Through the archway was darkness.

Cain felt the back of his skull, where the dull ache was centered. His fingers came away clean, so there hadn't been an open wound. The mild sense of the floor tilting under him when he moved too fast was a concussion. Okay, he could deal with that. He'd dealt with worse. He got to his feet and staggered to the barred doorway leading to his cell. It was locked, the keyhole rusted with time. There was nothing in his cell that he could have used to pick the lock or prise the door from its hinges, and nothing he could reach through the bars to take. He kicked the door and watched a small shower of powdered rust and dust fall from the lock. It was the only part of the door that wasn't completely covered in rust.

He kicked it again, harder, the sound echoing through the empty hall. The door rattled and shook, powdered rust falling again.

"Is someone else alive out there?" came a feeble voice. It was from somewhere on Cain's right, all the way at the end of the hallway,

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Bruce Wake," the voice said. It sounded as though the lips were cracked and dry, as if he was a living skeleton too stubborn to finally die. "I've been here a long time."

"What did you do to be tossed down here?"

"I wouldn't go to the cavern," Bruce replied. There was the sound of chain dragging over stone; Cain supposed he was chained to the wall. "The others wouldn't either, but they're dead now. Jack hasn't come back to animate them yet."

"When was that?"

"We feed the wyvern four times a year," Bruce answered. "But there's magic in this place. It takes longer for a man to die here."

Cain grunted and kicked the lock again. More rust powder dropped to the floor. His ears rang with the sound of it, but he wasn't about to give up. He wasn't going to be like this Bruce fellow, wasting away slowly because of the magic inherent in the place. He had no weapons other than his hands and feet, so those would have to do.

"The bars are steel," Bruce protested, trying to make himself heard over the kicks. "You can't break them down."

The rusted edges of the lock grated together, sending more finely ground rust to the floor. The bars weren't steel but poorly done iron. Time had done enough damage that he might just be able to kick the bars open. "What were you, before you were part of Jack's army?" Cain asked between kicks.

"A farmer in the Homespun Valley. I raised corn."

Cain kicked again. "The bars are iron and rusted. And when I get out of here, I'll get you out, too." He kicked again, viciously, imagining Jack's rotten pumpkin head flying across the empty courtyard and smashing to pieces.

Bruce's laughter was empty and hollow, like rustling leaves blowing across uneven cobblestones. "Lovely to imagine that, mister. But it won't happen. One of these days, I'll lie down and die, and when Jack remembers us, he'll come to reanimate our corpses."

"I don't plan on dying today," Cain said between vicious kicks. "Or in this dungeon."

He had a princess to save. Two princesses, really, but he was only focused on the one he had arrived with. They had to find the Dawn Sanctuary and Queen Lurlaine to get back to the OZ, and he certainly had no intention of dying in a dusty keep.

***

Ine'che led the way to the keep and threw the doors open with a wave of her hand. DG looked on, impressed, trying to figure out how she could do something similar. If she had all this magic to use, she might as well try to be kickass, right? Ozma had a fearful expression etched onto her face, wringing her hands almost desperately. "I don't think this is a good idea," she whispered, looking around nervously. "I don't like this."

Ine'che ignored her and strode forward purposefully. DG followed, skirts swishing about her. She finally just grabbed them to make sure she didn't trip over them, feeling like the heroine of some kind of period piece. She would have preferred to wear jeans and sneakers while running around, but Ozma had pitched a hissy fit of epic proportions. It hadn't seemed worth the hassle at the time, but DG was regretting that decision now.

"Please, Ine'che," Ozma pleaded, almost frantic from not hearing any response. "Please don't hurt Jack. You promised."

The roar she emitted shook the keep down to the dungeon stones. "Defilers of my ancestors!" she shrieked. "Show yourselves!"

DG dropped her skirts and kept her palms out, just in case she had to do something. Maybe if she just didn't think about it, she could force magic to her will. That had happened when she first arrived at the OZ, in the travel storm she had created and in altering course of the travel amulet that Azkadellia had made for Cain. It was thinking about magic that seemed to screw her up. If she simply acted and reacted, it worked. If she planned anything, nothing happened. Story of her life, really.

The great hallway from earlier was filled with the sound of shuffling. DG had thought it was dusty and empty before, but hadn't thought it smelled like death. Now she could smell the scent of decay and rot, and it was almost as if she was walking through a compost heap. She covered her nose with one hand, though Ine'che and Ozma didn't seem to be bothered by it. "The hell?" she asked irritably. "It wasn't like this before."

"The dead walk with magic," Ine'che replied darkly, brows furrowed. "This upturns the natural order of things."

"Zombies?" DG asked, voice shrill. "You're fucking kidding me!"

Ozma looked around them helplessly. "Jack! Jack! Please, it's me, it's Ozma! You have to come help me!"

The rotting army advancing up the hallway actually was led by Jack Pumpkinhead. He didn't seem to notice Ine'che in front of them, face contorted with fury. His sad, tired expression was clearly breaking Ozma's heart. "Princess," he said, almost apologetically. "You weren't supposed to leave the caverns. Whatever will happen to the keep? We're the only thing defending the valleys from the wyvern!"

_"I am the wyvern, you fool!"_ Ine'che roared. She growled, and her hair seemed to shiver and float behind her, crackling with her magic.

The army paused as Jack's resolve seemed to waver. "But... What?"

Ine'che advanced, heedless of the dead men in front of him. Her silver hair hovered in a cloud around her, and her eyes flared with an inner light. Hands hooked like claws, she reached out toward Jack. He skittered backward immediately. "You and your foolishness have helped to decimate my people. Your idiocy has reduced the lands to savagery and rubble. The damage here was done at _your_ order!"

Jack's eyes were round holes, and his mouth fell into an O of surprise. "But... The dangers... The Queen warned us of the dangers and that we had to stay vigilant."

Ine'che let out another horrific growl of anger, arms spread out as if she still had her wings. The growl shook the walls again, and even the dead men in the army seemed unnerved by the sound of it. "LIAR!"

"Um... Jack? Whatever you keep saying is pissing her off," DG said. "How about shutting up now and getting out of the way? I came here for Cain."

Jack looked contrite. "He's in the dungeons. I was going to have him join my army to battle the wyvern. We thought it was dangerous."

The words only served to anger Ine'che even more, and DG put her face in her hands. She was surrounded by idiots. That was the only explanation.

"Do you know how your dead walk?" Ine'che growled, a low rumble of rage. Ozma skittered backward away from her and closer to DG. Jack merely shook his head, truly afraid now. Ine'che inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. Without warning, her next intake of breath seemed to be like a rush of wind. Glittering silvery dust flew off of the undead army and down into Ine'che's lungs. The undead army collapsed into piles of stinking corpses. "The bones of my ancestors! The scales of my people! She ground them to dust and took their life force to do her demented bidding. You've corrupted the very nature of magic!"

DG grabbed Ozma. "Okay, this is a good time to head for the dungeons. You coming with me?"

"But... What about..." Ozma trailed off, helplessly gesturing toward Ine'che.

"I think she's angry enough not to notice us getting Cain. And we'll be right back."

Uncertainly, she followed DG down toward the dungeons. The hallways twisted and turned until they finally opened up into a room full of barred cells. Most of them had rusted locks and moldering corpses. DG gagged and covered her mouth with her hand. Ozma gave a cry of dismay and ducked back out into the hallway. "I'll wait out here," she said plaintively.

"I'll see if Wyatt's here," DG told her, not even looking behind her. She was scanning the cells desperately, hoping that Cain was still alive.

She found him sitting down on the floor of one cell, breathing heavily. The cell door looked as though it had been nearly rattled off of its hinges, but it was still hanging on tightly. "Hey, handsome," she said, voice soft. "Maybe you want out?"

Cain smiled at DG wearily. "Oh, sure. You come now that I've tired myself out trying to kick the door down."

"Poor baby," DG replied, smiling. "Maybe I could leave and let you keep kicking it down."

"Nah. That got old pretty quickly. How about opening the door?"

DG put her hand to the rusted lock. Her palm flared with light and the mechanism inside groaned as it turned over. The door swung open a few inches, and she pushed it aside the rest of the way. Cain pushed himself to his feet and then swept her up in his arms. He kissed her thoroughly, hands tangling in her hair as he tried to pull her even closer.

DG broke the kiss first to breathe. She grinned almost shyly at Cain. "I guess you missed me."

"I was scared half to death that he'd done something to hurt you," he whispered. "Don't do that to me again. Promise."

"I promise," DG told him, certain she was lying. "C'mon, let's go. We made a new friend, by the way. She's a little... odd."

"Wait. I promised someone..."

DG followed Cain down the hallway to another battered cell. Inside was a thin, almost skeletal man with dark skin and dark hair. "Bruce?" Cain asked, unsure.

Bruce cracked an eye open. He started, then cautiously sat up. "You weren't lying."

"Never, if I can help it," Cain told him. "This is Princess DG."

DG actually didn't mind the introduction, and nodded. She unlocked the cell door and then Bruce's manacles. "Hey. Let's get you out of here, okay?"

Bruce looked up at her almost adoringly. "My lady, I'll follow you wherever you desire."

DG and Cain exchanged looks, then shrugged. "Come on, then. I think Ozma needs a courtier anyway," DG told him.

They exited the dungeon and headed back up to the Great Hall. Jack was cowering in front of Ine'che, repeating "I'm sorry, I didn't know," over and over. Ine'che wasn't mollified, and merely roared at Jack with every repetition. She also spoke in some kind of guttural language that DG could only assume was her native wyvern language. Ozma didn't seem to understand it either. Bruce looked too exhausted to even understand what was going on in the Great Hall.

DG went up to Ine'che and put a hand on her arm, halting the tirade. "Come on, then. We should go. This isn't getting anywhere."

Ine'che's face contorted in fury, but DG merely stood her ground with her serene face on. Ine'che turned around and kept her back to Jack. "This creation will need to scour this keep from top to bottom. Every stone. He needs to set it to rights."

"Then that's what he'll do," DG said, voice firm. Jack nodded excitedly, head bobbing so fast it looked as though it would fall off. "Let's go."

Once in the courtyard, Ine'che reverted to her wyvern form and clutched the four humans in her claws. DG was pressed up against Cain, and she threw her arms around him. Ozma had squealed at the impropriety of it, but there wasn't much else that could be done. Ine'che flew fast and far, settling down in the middle of a bright, sunny field. Once the humans were safely on the ground, she changed into her human shape. She curled up in a ball, hair falling down around her. She sobbed, wailing with such an air of misery that Ozma looked discomfited. DG knelt down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder for support. She didn't say anything, just held her. Cain sat down nearby in case anything happened. Ozma and Bruce stood a few feet away, not sure what they should do. After a while, Ine'che's sobs slowed down. She rubbed at her face and looked at DG. "I'm the last," she whispered brokenly. "I really am the last."

"That's why you hid," DG guessed. "You didn't know for sure, and you didn't want to find out."

"I hoped."

DG ripped a layer of petticoat out from under her dress faster than Ozma could protest. She quickly changed it into a dress for Ine'che. "You're our family now," she declared, holding it out. "You'll come back to the OZ with me. We'll learn it together."

Touched, Ine'che accepted the dress. "All right."

"I don't know about you, but I'd like to stay here a bit," DG said, flopping back on the field. "It's nice here. When we're ready, we'll head out again."

There was certainly no argument to that plan.

***  
***


	13. Off The Road

The magical map said that the group was in the middle of Silvermoon Glen. They were all the way across the world again, not that distant from the Lunchpail Grove. DG wanted to groan in frustration at the sight of it. The way the magical map was currently configured, they could cross Silvermoon Glen to the Evergreen Forest. The forest was a massive smear of black ink across the map, next to the Red River. Across the riverbank was a blank field then Wolf Creek. Across Wolf Creek was Featherhold Gate. There was another blank space on the map, rather large this time, then the Dawn Sanctuary.

"I'd hate to ask it," DG told Ine'che, "but can't you just fly us over there?"

"Magic has rearranged the zone," Ine'che told her. "Those places," she began, pointing at the map, "are soft places. Magic hasn't settled there yet. Unsettled magic can be a dangerous place for practitioners or creatures. There is nothing to say that I would remain a wyvern flying over a soft place, or that we would remain ourselves on the other side of it."

"But we need to cross them," DG replied, nearly whining. "How are we supposed to do that?"

"The soft places must settle. And I don't like the look of this Evergreen Forest. The legend doesn't indicate what kind of tree is present, what kind of creature may lurk there."

"But if you fly over it and land next to the Red River..."

Ine'che looked at DG with a solemn expression. "I don't trust this new location, Dorothy."

"DG," DG corrected. "Please?"

"Initials are not a name."

"They're _my_ name. I'm not my ancestor, okay? I'm not terribly noble."

Ine'che gave DG an incredulous look but remained silent. "We will have to cross the forest on foot," she told DG. She took the map and gave it back to Cain. "Protect this, knight. The sorcery on this is ancient and powerful. The magics shifting this land can't break the spells on this map, though they are taxing it mightily. The lands here normally don't shift nearly so quickly."

"You mean they always do this?"

Ozma laughed, a sound like a trilling tinkling of bells. "Of course they do. Aunt Lurlaine says that's why it's perfect for exploring. Everything is always new."

Ine'che's lip curled at the mention of Lurlaine, but kept her own counsel. After her breakdown in the field, she was trying to keep her emotions separate from others.

Bruce seemed to have benefited from the rest. Though there was no food, enough magic had been absorbed into his system that he still didn't feel hungry or overly tired. He bowed properly to Ozma, who enjoyed the attention. "Perhaps it's best not to rush to court," he offered, almost uncertain. "If someone is going to this much trouble to keep us away, there could be a reason."

It was that reason that had Cain worried, but he kept silent. He merely looked at DG in concern, but she was looking at Ine'che. The more people their little group had, the harder it would be to get her alone. He had _missed_ her, and he wanted her to try making a travel storm. Surely she could do something like that. Then they wouldn't have to keep traveling in a world that didn't have a set geography.

"What would be in these woods?" DG asked, looking around. "Is it haunted? Lions or tigers or bears?" she asked.

"Oh, my!" Ozma cried, hands flying to her mouth in fear. "We can't go in, then!"

"We will defeat the forest dwellers," Bruce told Ozma adoringly. Cain wanted to roll his eyes and smack the poor fool upside the head.

"I'll take the lead," Cain told them in a tone that brooked no argument. "We'll head along the path until it ends. The map doesn't specify where it ends exactly, but I'm sure we're about to find out. Stay alert. We don't know what's in this forest."

DG settled into step beside Cain. Ine'che and Ozma were behind them, Bruce following behind them. The cobblestone path petered out fairly quickly, becoming beaten down dirt. Soon even the dirt was covered in overgrowth, and the underbrush was coming back. The forest was struggling to retake the path, but they could all feel the pull of the magic in the road. Straying from the road in such an instance was likely a stupid move.

Which meant that of course Ozma strayed from the path when the underbrush grew too thick and she was inpatient with how slow Cain was cutting it down.

DG tried to go after her, but missed Ozma's arm and went crashing down into the underbrush. Ine'che shouted a warning that went unheeded in the crash, and Bruce went out after the two princesses. Cain and Ine'che exchanged glances. "This really isn't a good thing, is it?" he asked heavily, sure of the answer already.

"Of course not," Ine'che snapped. "Now we have to leave the safety of the Old Road, and there's no guarantee that we'll be able to get back on it."

The Old Road. So there were such things in this world as well? Maybe it was something Ozma had brought over with her from the OZ when it was Oz.

There was no point in the journey if he wasn't with DG. Cain stepped off of the path to follow DG, and Ine'che followed him.

The very air around them seemed to change. It crackled and popped slightly, and it felt almost as if Cain was falling through _something,_ though he was hard pressed to describe it. It was a tingle along his skin, a heightened sensitivity. Whatever protection the Old Road had given them, it was gone now.

DG had fetched up under the brush and was glaring at Ozma, who was crying. She had strayed from the path, and the ground had fallen away rather sharply after a few feet. DG was applying pressure to her ankle, and there was a soft white glow under her palms. Dammit.

Cain moved to DG's side. "Are you all right?" he asked in a low tone. He wasn't terribly surprised by the urge to throttle Ozma, though the fiercely protective urge to hoist DG over his shoulder and carry her for the rest of the way was surprising.

"My ankle hurts a little," she said, concentrating on the healing spell Ozma had taught her. "But I'll be all right in a little while." She looked up at Cain with a crooked grin. "You were worried about me."

"Of course I was."

"I can take care of myself, you know."

"In a strange forest with no weapons?" he asked, challenging her.

"I see a forest full of big, nasty branches I could use," she replied, grinning. "You're such a guy, you know that?"

"Is that an insult?" Cain asked, confused.

She rolled her eyes. "See what I mean? Dense in some ways and completely on target in others. Good thing I love you so much, or you'd be irritating when you think I can't do anything for myself."

Cain shook his head. There was really no need to go into how much she didn't know about the OZ. Or that none of them knew anything about the Mirror Zone. Or that even Ine'che didn't know what would happen in the forest. "DG..."

"If there's a gingerbread house, keep away from it. How's that?"

He bit back a retort at the sight of her rolling her eyes. "Now you really are making fun of me," he said quietly.

"No, not really," DG told him. "Look, I get it. You're a tin man and you do tin man type things. Okay. But I'm not _her,_ okay? I don't want you thinking that."

He followed her gaze and took in Ozma, still crying despite Bruce's attentions. Ine'che was perched on a fallen tree, looking off into the distance disdainfully. He turned back to DG. "I would never think of you that way. Ever."

"Good. 'Cause that would royally piss me off."

He smiled and placed his palm against the back of her hand. He could risk this; no one was looking at the moment, wrapped up in their own issues. "I do love you. But I still need to protect you. You do need it sometimes, and I know how to do that. I'm the tin man, remember?"

Her lips curled into a smile. "I do. But make sure your plotting includes me, too, okay?"

"All right," he told her, not sure he would do such a thing. It wasn't right to involve a princess that way, even one as determined as she was.

"There. Go play hero for everyone, then. I think I'm about halfway done with my ankle."

Cain took the send-off for what it was and went over to the others. Ozma's tears had slowed to hiccups, and Bruce looked just as anxious and weary as before. Cain opted to stand near Ine'che. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"You should spend time with your mate," she replied, not looking at him.

Cain started. "What?"

"I smell her on you, and you on her. It was obvious when I saw you together at the Keep."

He tried to think back on when the last time they had slept together, and was fairly certain they had washed up afterwards. "Um..."

Ine'che turned to look at Cain. "It's the way your scents complement each other, knight. It's the emotion in how you look at each other. Or not look at each other. I'm wiser in these things than the child."

Cain resisted the urge to smile at Ine'che. "It's complicated."

"Humans always seem to make them so."

"She's a princess. I'm not any kind of knight. I'm a tin man. I enforce laws. I work. That's not someone befitting a princess, but she keeps ignoring that. She doesn't seem very good at following the rules of the OZ," he said heavily.

"Princesses rarely have to worry of such things," Ine'che informed him grandly. "Their concerns are different. Apart." She hopped down from the fallen tree, dress fluttering around her. "But this princess is newly formed. I can sense that. And true matings have little to do with insipid social conventions in any case."

"Did you have one?" Cain asked, curious.

"Impertinent question."

He felt the rebuke and inclined his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"I did once," Ine'che replied abruptly. "Before the slaughter." She nodded at DG. "It is what it is, knight. You are one, as surely as she is a princess," Ine'che told him, forestalling any further contradiction from Cain. "Don't lose the way of things for the sake of others. Princesses often have a way of fixing things to their liking."

"I'll take that into advisement," he told her.

"Good. Do so. As it is, I think we should keep moving as soon as we are able. I smell a different kind of magic here, and I don't like it."

Cain frowned. "Can you tell anything about this new kind of magic?"

"It feels... Tainted, somehow. Stolen. It's hard to explain. Practitioners of the arts have a kind of signature woven into their magical abilities. Magical places have a certain kind of feel to them. This is neither."

"Ine'che," Cain began, his voice pitched even lower than before. "Do you think Lurlaine is involved in all of this?"

Her expression was stony. "Wouldn't you?"

"That's why I'm asking. I want to know what I'm dealing with."

"The Queen of Fairies is not the sweet darling auntie that the child believes her to be," Ine'che said after a moment. "The Sidhe have their own means of discipline and terror."

"Terror?"

Ine'che's nod was matter of fact, sending a chill down Cain's spine. "Capricious magical beings are still capable of spiteful, horrific things. They have no need to curb their impulsive natures unless the Queen Lurlaine wishes it so. And she very rarely wishes it so."

"Are we in danger, then?"

"Only if she grows tired of playing with us," Ine'che muttered darkly. "But the child will be fine, for now. Lurlaine has plans for that one. I can smell the taint of her magic."

Cain frowned. "Does that mean she's following us with her magic?" While Azkadellia wasn't the Sorceress any longer, he couldn't help but remember the translucent discs she had forced Tutor to drop to track them through the OZ.

"She doesn't need to. We're heading right for her."

Cain frowned even deeper now. "I don't like this."

"Of course not," Ine'che huffed. "Honest men never would." She nodded at the forest around them. "No use to get back on the path now. The protection spells have already been broken. We might as well take the short cut and deal with what comes."

"Same order as before."

"As you wish," Ine'che replied, nodding. She went to Ozma's side as Cain went to check on DG again. He didn't have the feeling that they were being watched, but he couldn't help but feel as though there was something he was missing that he should have known.

***

Azkadellia lay down on the field, stretching out after the morning's walk. Callan and Della had set a punishing pace to make up for their fun in the river, and she had kept to it without complaint. Still, she was glad of the rest. She had never been this active before in her entire life, before or during the possession.

Callan snuggled up against her side and grinned up at Della. "Go hunt something for lunch, will you? I'll keep her warm."

Della snorted and rolled his eyes. "Idiot. There's nothing here I could catch that wouldn't see me coming." He plopped down on the ground on Azkadellia's other side. "I'll stay here, thanks."

"I can see if I can conjure enough food."

"If you could do that, why didn't you do that before?" Callan asked, curious.

"Paul always left to go hunting. I thought he liked to."

Della laughed and tucked Azkadellia against him tighter. "I do. Sometimes."

Azkadellia rolled over onto her stomach, pillowing her head on Della's chest. She sighed happily, his heartbeat beneath her ear. Callan ran his hands along the small of her back, then the rise of her buttocks. She made a satisfied humming noise as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the caress and attention.

"Mm... I want you again, Delia," he murmured. He pulled up the skirt of her dress and ran his hands over her bare skin. Azkadellia leaned into his touch. "Knowing you had just the dress was driving me crazy all morning."

Azkadellia picked her head up and looked at Della. "What about you?"

"I have more self control than that idiot," he said with a smile. Della smoothed her hair back from her face. "But I was thinking about it, too."

She smiled, a pink glow settling over her cheeks. "And did you want to do more than just think about it?" she asked, voice low and almost sultry.

"I did," Callan said, sliding a finger inside her. "I think you did, too."

Azkadellia sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. "Maybe just a little," she admitted, leaning into his touch. She could hear Della's chuckle and feel his hands slide down to her shoulders. "I was wondering how we would... like in the river, but not."

"Oh, I think this is easy enough if you don't change position," Callan said, the smile evident in his voice. He had Azkadellia perch on all fours, skirt pulled up around her waist. He slid his fingers in and out of her, causing her breath to catch.

Della slipped out from beneath her and sat on his haunches. He opened the front of his pants and stroked Azkadellia's face. "Only if you want to, that is."

"Like Benji did to me, then," she murmured, eyebrow raised in question.

"I suppose," Della said, frowning at Callan.

"Exactly. He wasn't there, love. But yeah, give that a try."

Azkadellia nearly grinned at Callan's use of the word love. It was more than just physical love for the both of them, and the casual pet names made her feel cherished. She nuzzled Della's groin before experimentally taking him into her mouth. She had to shift her weight onto one arm to use her other hand to hold him steady. Callan slid into her from behind, and she sighed at the feel of him inside of her. She closed her eyes and let the pleasure wash through her, listening for the sound of Della's hitching breath. She ran her tongue down the length of him, and moved her head around trying to find a particular spot that seemed more comfortable. When he sucked in a breath, she knew she had it. When Callan made a particularly pleasurable thrust, she sucked on him a bit harder. Her moans reverberated along his cock, and Della fisted his hands at his sides to keep from grabbing her head.

Callan's running commentary was a soft rolling sound, like the babbling of a brook. It was another layer of his touch on her; there was power in sound, magic in naming things. He named her as his, named the pleasures he took in her, named the feelings he had as love.

Azkadellia had to drop her hold on Della's cock and brace herself with both hands. She clutched at the grass, pulling at it in spastic motions as the pleasure intensified. Callan had control of her bucking hips, his fingers tight along her bare hips. He thrust quickly, deeply, fingertips sometimes coming teasingly close to her clit. She moaned around Della's cock, making it twitch in her mouth. She sucked hard as she came, her entire body suddenly tightening.

With a hiss, Della pulled out of her mouth abruptly. He struggled to get himself under control, to keep from coming into her mouth without warning. Exchanging a glance with Callan, the other man withdrew and helped him turn Azkadellia to her back. Della knelt between her spread legs and entered her slowly, deliberately. She sucked in a breath, shuddering at the delicious contact of him. He linked his hands with hers on either side of her head and thrust deeply. He moved unhurriedly, drawing out each stroke before bringing himself all the way back inside her. She writhed prettily beneath him, gasping for breath, panting for him.

Noting the strain on Della's face, Callan reached between their bodies and found Azkadellia's wet clit. He stroked it, smooth circles that had her head lolling as she made keening noises. She bucked beneath Della, trying to deepen his thrusts and push herself closer to Callan's fingers. He chuckled and Della could only groan at the feel of her tightening around him. She couldn't speak coherently, making soft whimpering noises, pleading with them to let her come.

"Ask us nicely, Delia," Callan crooned in her ear. He leaned in close and licked the shell of her ear. She shuddered, gasping for breath.

"Please," she whimpered, looking between the two men. "Please... I need... please..."

"Della?" Callan asked, looking up from where he was nipping at her earlobe.

"Shut... up… close..."

Callan picked up the pace on Azkadellia's clit, and she made a strangled groan as she came again. She tightened around Della like a velvet vise, and he lost what little control he had left. He came with a sharp grunt, and then nearly collapsed on top of Azkadellia. He rolled to the side, half curling over her. Callan settled in next to her, a contented hum deep in his throat. "Mmm. Nice way to reward the morning's walk," he said, tucking his head against hers. "Good way to build up an appetite, too. You were going to conjure food?"

"Do you only think about food and sex?"

"Well, no. There's other things, too. Those are just the most important."

Azkadellia laughed and let her arm settle around his shoulders. She gave him an affectionate squeeze. Her other arm was underneath Della. "I'm all tired out now."

"But I'm hungry," Callan whined playfully. "I thought you were going to make food."

"Oh, fine, if you insist," she replied, taking on a similarly playful tone. "I'll need both my hands, though," she murmured to Della. He rolled away slightly so that she could retrieve her arm. She had to sit up and really think about what she wanted to make. She knew the theory; she knew everything the witch had known, and she had been a practitioner of ancient arts in a time when the OZ was ancient. She just didn't always have practical applications for the arcane knowledge that she had.

She held out her hands in front of her, eyes closed. She tried to picture a decanter of water and goblets as she used to have in her bedroom, as well as the sweet breads the witch had allowed her to have when she was good. When she heard the surprised sounds from the men, she cracked her eyes open enough to look through her lashes. The food she had imagined was slowly being made manifest, solidifying as they watched. When it felt ready, Azkadellia dropped her hands and picked up the basket of rolls. They weren't the same kind of sweet breads, exactly, but more like cinnamon rolls with extra frosting. "Not the same as hunting," she told them, lips twisting into an apologetic smile. "Not quite what I wanted to make, either."

"Good enough for me," Callan replied, grabbing a roll. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Don't worry too much, Delia. This is still amazing."

Azkadellia looked between the two men. "We're not going to get to the north fast enough like this, are we?"

"No," Della murmured after a moment.

The three fell silent and ate the rolls quietly. There was no sign that the Ice Witch was breaking free of her prison, but the uncertainty cast a pall on their mood.

"I know who we can ask for help," Callan said softly, thinking after a moment. "Didn't Roberts say there was a caravan that ran the roads?"

Della rolled his eyes. "We need to go much farther than the trade routes."

Azkadellia looked between the two men. "Or I can try and see if I can make the transportation bubble the witch was so afraid of."

They both blinked, suddenly falling silent. "You've never done it before," Della said softly.

"I haven't conjured food before, either. If it needs to be done, it'll be done."

Callan slipped an arm around her shoulders. "No pressure on you, Delia. We'll figure something out. If need be, we can contact the caravans..."

"Or just head to one of the outlying training centers and ask for supplies. We carry the royal seal authorizing our journey and we have payment if need be. That might be enough to outfit us."

The outlying areas had probably been the hardest hit under the Sorceress' reign. They would be the most untrustworthy and difficult to deal with. It had only been a few months since the eclipse, and there were still struggles between the populace and remnants of the Longcoats hiding in the forest and terrorizing the hapless citizens for supplies and sport. Azkadellia didn't think that they would be overly happy about helping her with anything.

"You might have to go on ahead. Mother had said that the outlying provinces weren't quite ready to accept that I'm not the Sorceress any longer."

Callan and Della both shook their heads. "I think there's one east of here," Callan began slowly. "I believe it's run by Baker. He's not a bad sort, if I remember it right."

"Then we'll have to try it," Della said. He saw the downward turn in Azkadellia's expression. "It'll be all right, Delia. We're going to protect you and we're going to get you to the north. They can possibly get us a car or some other transportation."

"I don't like going off the path we've set," Azkadellia murmured. She pulled her knees up to her chest. "And I don't know if I'm ready to face them. It was bad enough in the palace. It's going to be worse out there."

Each of the men leaned into her for support. "We'll be with you," Callan told her.

"We'll make sure no one tries to do or say anything to make you uncomfortable."

That was exactly what she was afraid of. She didn't think they could stop it, and would only get caught in the middle. Still, now they were set in their idea to head off the road and through the woods to get to the supply station.

She was dreading it already.

***  
***


	14. Finding Midnight

After the fifth time the ball gown snagged on the underbrush, DG cursed a blue streak. Ozma blanched and covered her ears with her hands like a small child and shut her eyes. DG grabbed the filmy fabric with both hands. Her palms flared to life as she willed the dress transformed into jeans and a T shirt. Next went the party shoes, changed into sneakers.

"Well, I approve," Cain told her wryly. "Why didn't you do that before?"

"Didn't think of it before," DG groused. "I'm not used to this magic thing, remember?"

The sight of jeans, sneakers and a plain T shirt created out of an exquisite ball gown sent Ozma into a tizzy. "You can't do that! It's not proper! A lady should never show her legs like this!"

"I'm wearing _jeans,"_ DG snapped, rolling her eyes. "I'm covered, okay. And the difference is, I can walk without tripping and breaking something."

Ine'che looked irritated by the exchange. "Unfortunately, DG, I have to agree with the child. It isn't right to appear less than your proper station." She indicated the dress that DG had created out of petticoats. "This is acceptable and still comfortable enough for travel. You should create the same sort of thing for yourself."

"I can't believe we're arguing about this," DG groused, shaking her head. "I'm comfortable enough in this. Okay? Can we go now? All this noise and I'm sure some kind of creature will come out and find us."

"Improper princess," Ozma muttered, sticking her tongue out at DG's back. "You have no idea how to be a princess and you refuse to learn."

Ine'che sighed. While boredom in her cavern was likely a worse fate, listening to the grumbling wasn't high on her list of things to do either. "We will simply have to teach her at a safer location then, Ozma."

"Oh, goody," she replied, smiling up at Ine'che. "You know, you're very nice. I was very afraid of you as the wyvern. Did you really eat up princes as a wyvern?"

"On occasion," Ine'che confirmed. "They were of the notion that I should roll over and die. I didn't agree with that."

"Oh." Ozma frowned and looked from Ine'che to Bruce. "He's not a prince, and he's not trying to kill you. So you won't have to eat him."

"Your assurances are unnecessary," Ine'che replied dryly, taking in Bruce's abrupt fearful demeanor. "I have no taste for human flesh."

"Just in case," Ozma told her loftily. "Because you haven't been a human very long. Not that I'm human, really, but I look like one."

"I am not human either, Ozma," Ine'che reminded her. "I simply look like one."

"Oh! Really? You fooled me."

"Don't even," Cain hissed at DG when she was about to open her mouth. "Just zip it and keep walking. It's not worth it to start something."

"I wasn't," DG lied sweetly, batting her eyelashes at Cain. "If I'm really good, will I get a reward for it later?"

He couldn't help but smile. "If you're very good and very quiet and we're very alone."

In the meantime, Ine'che simply shook her head. "Ozma, you had called me a wyvern not two minutes ago. Don't tell me you've forgotten so soon."

Ozma frowned. "My memory is bad a lot. Aunt Lurlaine gives me medicine for it, though." She brightened and linked an arm through Ine'che's on one side and Bruce's on the other. "I need to take a lot of it after I travel. Aunt Lurlaine said so. But I feel fine with the lot of you with me. I think maybe I just get into more trouble on my own because I can't remember things."

"Princess," Bruce began fearfully. "Would your Aunt the Queen Lurlaine be able to send me back home? The fields must be fallow by now."

Ine'che sighed, cutting off Ozma's reply. "The fields were blasted in the hunts on the wyvern race. They make up the Black Cauldron now. There is nothing left for you to return to, even if you wanted to. The lands are barren."

Stricken, Bruce fell into silence.

Ozma glared at Ine'che. "There's no need to be cruel. Come now, Bruce. We'll make a knight of you and you can accompany me on my journeys when I want to travel again. And you can find another place that looks like your home and we'll get you settled there. Isn't that lovely? You can start all over again."

"But my family..." he murmured in a small voice.

"You don't know how long you've been imprisoned, then," Ine'che murmured.

He turned confused eyes on her. "A few months, perhaps. The magic made time seem strange."

"It's been nearly five hundred years since my brother fell to the Keep's army, leaving me the lone survivor in my family. The wars began over a thousand years ago."

Bruce stopped walking abruptly. "It can't be. It was only months."

DG and Cain stopped walking at the sound of his tortured wail. "What is it?" she asked, concerned. They ignored her, and she came closer.

"Time moves differently in these lands," Ine'che told him as gently as she knew how. "Even in one area to another. Time changes shape and form, and the lands themselves shift and tumble. You were taken to become part of the Keep's army, but the pumpkin went soft in places and he forgot about the living. I don't know why the magic chose to preserve you as it did."

He shook his head. "I'm a farmer from Homespun Valley. I'm not anyone important. I'm not anybody, really."

"But they locked you up," Ozma protested.

"For not feeding the wyvern. For being too much of a coward." Bruce gently removed Ozma's arm from his. "I'm not worthy of a princess's touch."

Ozma caught his hands in hers. "But you're going to be my knight. And you'll protect me on my travels and keep me safe and make sure I don't forget all the things I always forget. And along the way we'll find another Homespun Valley to make a home spun."

Bruce blinked, every inch of his emaciated body taut with tension. "This isn't so simple, Princess. I can't simply become a knight. I'm a farmer. I raised corn." His laughter bordered on hysteria. "All I knew is dead. You can't just remake me into something else."

Ozma laughed and placed her hands over his face. "Oh, silly. Of course I can."

Everyone else was stunned at the sight of Bruce's body filling out slightly, as his posture and demeanor changed under her hands. There was no bright light emanating from them as when DG did magic, but there was no mistaking the feel of something in the air shifting around them.

"You did magic," DG said stupidly, stunned.

"I can't do magic," Ozma told her simply, shaking her head. The blonde curls bobbed with all the sincerity she could muster. "I gave it all away. He just thinks like a silly, lost man. He just needed to be reminded of who he could be." She turned to Bruce, smiling as she let her hands fall back to her sides. "So, Sir Bruce. Are you ready for a journey?"

Bruce bowed slightly and extended an arm toward the rest of the forest. "My lady. Wherever you wish to go, I will follow."

She smiled, satisfied. "Of course. You're my knight now, Sir Bruce. And I think we should really get going. Aunt Lurlaine isn't that far away, I don't think."

Ine'che was still, looking over the others. "This is a soft place," she murmured. "There is much strange magic at work."

"But she did magic. Ozma, you did magic! You said you couldn't do magic even as you tried to teach me." DG grabbed Ozma's arm and spun her around. "You just did magic!"

"Silly girl," Ozma told her patiently. "I gave it all away to your ancestor. He just needed to think I did some magic on him. But I really don't have any. I've checked with Aunt Lurlaine a thousand times, and I simply don't have it. But she hasn't the heart to turn me away if I come back to visit for a spell. She's the only family I have." Ozma smiled at DG brightly and clasped hands with her. "But if I did have magic, I'd give it all to you and give you all my skill so you can be a good ruler like Dorothy."

It felt as though DG's hands were on fire. She snatched them away as quickly as she could without seeming hateful or rude, and stared after Ozma's oblivious smile. "What the fuck was that?" she asked, mouth falling open.

"Dangerous things are happening," Ine'che intoned, brows furrowed. "I do not like this place."

"She has magic, doesn't she, Ine'che?" DG asked, looking almost afraid. "There's something wrong with that girl, always was."

"I can't say if she does or doesn't. She doesn't feel like a creature of magic as you do, but doesn't feel like an ordinary human as the menfolk do. There is something odd about her, something caught up about her."

"Maybe it's this forest," DG muttered. "You said it was a bad thing to go wandering here."

"We strayed from the path," Ine'che murmured. "Little bodes well off the path."

"Best to keep moving, then," Cain told them. He gave them little pushes in the direction Ozma and Bruce had started walking in. "It's best to stay together."

"It's these woods," Ine'che murmured as they walked. "There is something not quite right about it, even for a soft place."

DG was about to reply when she heard a pitiful, mournful cry. "Ozma?" she called out. They hadn't yet caught up with the petite princess, and DG wouldn't put it past Ozma to have done something stupid and hurt herself.

There was no reply, however.

"This can't be good," she muttered, jogging off in the direction of the cry. She didn't even wait as Cain called out to stop her.

Cain and Ine'che exchanged a glance worriedly, then trotted off in the direction DG had gone. It was somewhere east of Ozma's direction, and not very likely to have been where she had gone off to. Still, who knew if she had kept to the same direction. She did like to wander.

DG stopped as the brush thinned out. The trees were taller here, with denser branches beneath the canopy. Pale greenish light filtered down to the forest floor, and it felt like perpetual twilight. She couldn't find Ozma, but she saw a small lump beneath a tree move spastically, as if it was trying to get up but couldn't.

She crept closer, wishing the debris along the forest floor included a big enough branch that might look threatening. As it was, she merely kept an eye out, then knelt next to the shivering lump under the tree. "Hey, there," she murmured softly, hands open. "What's going on?"

The creature was a small, tiny thing. Its face was contorted in pain and looked very much like monkeys on Earth. However, large leathery bat wings were on its back. DG couldn't tell if this was what the creature was supposed to look like, but the wings were obviously broken. She looked up into the impossibly tall tree and couldn't tell if there was a nest of the creatures above them. If there was one up there somewhere, this little one likely had fallen out of it trying to learn how to fly.

"Hey, little monkey-bat thing," DG murmured, trying to be soothing. "Let me fix your wings, okay? Then you can fly on up out of here. I don't know if there are dangerous things here that can eat you."

It whimpered when she probed the wings, and the whimpers turned into mewls of pain as she tried to heal them. There was the faint sound of squawking from up above, but there was no sign that any other monkey bats were willing to approach.

Cain and Ine'che were there when DG looked up, holding the tiny creature in her arms. "It's a monkey-bat," DG explained unnecessarily. "It was hurt."

Cain sighed. "The Sorceress had mobats," he told her. "Those things that carried you away from the winter palace."

Her eyes were wide with shock. "No. Those things were nasty."

"What do you think that'll grow up to be like?"

DG frowned at Cain and looked down at the creature in her arms. It looked up at her with calm, adoring eyes and burrowed deeper into her arms. "It likes me, though."

Cain sighed. "Come on, DG. Leave it there and let's go find Ozma. She could do anything out there and she's our ticket into the Dawn Sanctuary."

DG tried to lay the small mobat down on the forest floor, but it protested mightily as soon as she tried to walk away. It only calmed when she picked it up, reminding her of the one time she tried to babysit a three month old infant. She looked at Cain and Ine'che helplessly. "It doesn't want me to leave."

Ine'che shook her head. "Then simply bring him along. The cries will attract predators thinking we are an easy meal. I'd rather not be caught unawares. I don't know what the local fauna will be like and I don't want to find out that I'm no match for it."

"I thought wyverns were the top of the food chain," DG murmured, carrying the mobat in her arms. It burrowed into her arms contentedly, tail wrapping around her rib cage. "What do these things eat anyway? How am I going to take care of it? I've never had one before!" she cried, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. And didn't monkeys fling their excrement everywhere? She couldn't deal with something like that.

"Wyverns have limits. And they eat fruit. Let the mobat climb on you and teach it to fly, and it will be all right. They tend not to have large packs anyway."

DG calmed down a little. Cain rolled his eyes at her but couldn't help but smile. "You worry about all the odd things," he murmured.

"Someone has to, right?" she replied cheekily.

"When next we rest," Ine'che interrupted, "I can hold the mobat to entertain the child and farmer. That should give the two of you time together."

DG was shocked speechless. She hadn't thought she was being obvious. Cain merely nodded at her. "Much obliged."

"Th-thank you," DG replied when Cain elbowed her. "How'd you know?" she asked quietly.

"I explained to the knight," Ine'che replied, looking ahead of them. She could almost trace out Ozma's odd scent. It wasn't quite magical, but it was certainly stronger than it had been when she had met the girl in the caverns. "Your scents mingle, so you must be mates. Mates should spend time together when they can."

Sobered, DG smiled at Ine'che. "Thank you," she repeated in a stronger voice. "Ozma wouldn't understand it."

"Humans always complicate things," Ine'che replied, not impressed with the trail they were on. She turned to DG and Cain. "Those two haven't wandered far. The child picked a poor excuse of a knight. This one is far more capable in the role."

DG slid her arm through Cain's. "Well, this one is taken."

"Quite obviously so," Ine'che replied with a nod. She strode forward, following Ozma's faint scent. DG and Cain followed closely, alert. This part of the forest was unnaturally still and silent, and that was never a good thing.

The mobat quivered fearfully in DG's arms. She looked down at it, concerned. It had to know that something was wrong with the forest. _He,_ she told herself. Ine'che had called it a he, and she supposed she should name the thing.

She took in the black fur and round eyes that looked like jet. "I think he's a Midnight."

Cain eyed her strangely. "You're naming him? That makes it permanent."

"There's magic in naming things," Ine'che intoned, not turning around.

_"Binding_ magic," Cain murmured. "Are you sure?"

DG looked down at the helpless face cowering in her arms. "Yeah. I'd hope someone would take care of me if I got lost."

"Midnight it is, then." He looked around the forest. "This is too quiet."

"I am aware, knight," Ine'che replied. She still hadn't turned around. Cain noticed how tense she appeared to be, how her hands were loose and akimbo, as if ready to revert to claws to defend herself. He wished he had his gun.

"I don't like this," DG murmured. "Do you think it's Midnight's mother?"

"He fell out of the nest. He is marked as weak and not worth retrieving," Ine'che replied, tone flat. Nature was cruel, and she didn't believe in sugar coating it. "No, this is something entirely different. I can't quite place it, but it has been following us. I can't tell who it's after, if at all. But it is dangerous enough to have scared the forest creatures quiet."

DG clasped the mobat baby to her chest for protection and looked over at Cain. "We never did get weapons from the Keep."

"They are too degraded," Ine'che replied, interrupting Cain's reply. "We should catch up with the child and farmer. They aren't much farther ahead."

They walked quickly, still feeling as though they were being watched.

***

_she stumbles, catches herself. they almost saw, almost heard._

no, that wouldn't do. that wouldn't do at all.

better to remain in shadows until she was ready to act on her lady's orders. better to wait, to wait, to wait.

better to wait in darkness.

***

Ozma was sitting on a fallen log, pouting at Bruce. "I still say they'll catch up whenever they catch up." She crossed her arms over her chest, curls flouncing over her shoulder. "I said I was leaving, after all."

"And here we are," Cain said as they approached.

Ozma hopped down from the log then started at the sight of DG. "What is _that?"_

DG curled an arm protectively around her mobat. "This is Midnight. He was hurt, but I fixed his wings."

"Oh." Ozma whirled about, headed in a different direction. "We can go now, then."

"And where do you think you're going?" DG asked, voice edged with frustration. "You don't even know where you are."

"Yes I do. That foresty area you were talking about," she replied, waving vaguely at them. "Then it's a north easterly route until the edge of dawn, and then we're back home with Aunt Lurlaine again."

"You're not walking northeast," Cain told her grimly.

"I'd figure it out when I came out of the forest," Ozma told him sulkily. "Anyway, we're all together again. I don't think you should bring that thing with you to Auntie Lurlaine's. She doesn't like them."

"I'll take care of Midnight, thanks," DG told her, voice glacial. She looked over at Ine'che. "Let's get this show on the road. I need to get back to the OZ as soon as possible."

***  
***


	15. The Northern Outpost

The outpost loomed ahead, a structure of stone and mortar shoved into the landscape with little care about its placement. It was near the forest, its trees tall and almost forbidding looking. Azkadellia wondered how much of it was because she could feel the tension in her companions and knew that there was no guarantee for any help from that quarter. They had mentioned that they would have to be circumspect for her sake, for her reputation, and she had swallowed her immediate retorts that there was no reputation to save. They couldn't allude to any improper relationship, couldn't even divulge the nature of their journey. Both tin men had the seals the Queen had given them, and they all had their sense of purpose. It would have to be enough.

She followed along, tongue thick in her mouth from all her worry. She couldn't tell them about the cold that seeped from the outpost's foundations, the fingers of ice in its air. They might have believed her, but it would change how they interacted with their fellow tin men. She couldn't have that happen. They were heading further and further north, and she could feel the tendrils of influence the Ice Witch was trying to exert. She didn't have full power yet, _yet._ There was still time to stop her, however nebulous its frame, because the Breakers hadn't completely destroyed the veils between worlds yet. As long as the borders remained in place, the Ice Witch wouldn't have enough power to overthrow the Gale line. Askadellia still had time.

Della and Callan led the way into the Northern Outpost, aware of the stares they drew. The faces around them were cold and calculating, weighing the sight of the princess with them with the possibilities of harm. The northern territories had been hit hard and fast by the Sorceress, and they never had the chance to recover properly. The Sorceress had seen to that. The hatred would be difficult to burn away.

The outpost was old and grimy, wear evident in every blasted brick of its frame. The portcullis was raised and rusted open; it had been years since the bars had been lowered for protection. If the wind blew hard enough, flakes of rust as large as a man came tumbling down to the courtyard to shatter. Remnants of the rust mingled with the grit and dirt and dust, coloring it all red. There were men milling about in varying uniforms. Some were in the traditional tin man uniform, with the Northern Crest on their shoulders and chests. Some were in black leather and likely mercenaries seeking their fortune. Some were in the leathers of their trade; merchants, leatherworkers, blacksmiths, carvers, fletchers and thatchers. All of the men stopped their work, and the courtyard was silent and still. Azkadellia could feel the weight of their eyes upon her, and her spine crawled. The tin men on either side of her appeared oblivious, but she could tell by the tightening jaws that they could feel the stares as well.

There was time to cower later, Azkadellia decided, back ramrod straight as she strode through the outpost's courtyard. There was time to cry and cower and feel helpless later. For now, there was no way in seven hells she would let them see her break.

The commander's name was Banker, not Baker. It was close enough that the tin men at least knew that they were speaking with the right person. There was a full complement of guards in the hallway leading to his office, and two on either side of his doorway. Azkadellia didn't have to look at them to feel their eyes on her, the weight of their speculation and hatred. She didn't have to look to know that her tin men were just as on edge, ready to pounce if any of them laid a finger on her.

Banker was a short, almost portly man sitting behind a massive wooden desk with a large black stone on the top. He was balding and had skin so weathered it looked more like leather or the rusty dust outside. He wore the Northern Crest uniform proudly, worn corners still crisp from ironing. He had beady brown eyes that fixed on them immediately. To discount him would be a fatal mistake; his unassuming appearance had likely been part of his rise to power. It was easy to assume that someone smaller and rounder wouldn't be dangerous. It was easy to assume that his small eyes and balding head didn't contain any spark of intelligence. Intelligent men used assumptions like that to their advantage. Azkadellia knew that Della let everyone think he was more dangerous than he was and that Callan used the shadows to his advantage. It was simply how they worked. Tin men always took Nature's lead to get to the truth.

"Paul Della, Central City complement, Homicide," Della introduced himself with a crisp nod.

Callan nodded first, then stated "Benji Callan, Central City complement, Homicide."

Banker turned his beady eyes to Azkadellia, standing rigidly at attention between them, not making eye contact. "And this is the fallen princess, is it not? How does this relate to Central City's Homicide division, I wonder?"

Azkadellia felt her skin crawl along her spine and kept her mouth shut. This wasn't her place, wasn't her fight. Assumptions and half truths would go nowhere. This wasn't any different than court, not in the ways that mattered. Words were blades, and any blunders here could be fatal.

"We have been commanded by Her Royal Majesty to accompany the Princess Azkadellia north," Della said, taking the royal seal from his vest pocket. He handed it over to Banker with spare efficiency. Callan followed suit.

She understood why Della took the lead in this situation. Had Banker seemed more jovial, Callan would have led this operation. She knew them well enough by now that they didn't need to determine things ahead of time. Della did better in stoic, rigid situations. Callan flew by the seat of his pants. It was how their partnership worked for twelve years, and why Central City's Homicide department hadn't split them up once they came out of training at the Academy. You didn't destroy what worked, you only tried to enhance it.

"And this journey is for...?" Banker asked sharply when Della didn't continue. He returned the seal, his eyes never leaving Della's face.

It was stony. "Royal dispensation forbids me from revealing details," he returned evenly. "Suffice it to say, this is of paramount importance to the Queen."

"I haven't heard of this," Banker replied, obviously displeased by the turn of events.

"I am not aware of who the Queen did and did not inform," Della replied. He gave a half shrug, but his expression didn't waver. "We were not informed who we're allowed to discuss the journey with. However, it has taken us a week to get this far, and time is of the essence."

"Hence the need to break silence," Banker guessed, leaning back in his chair. His gaze swept over the three of them, and Azkadellia managed to repress a shudder at the cold light in his eyes. The witch had assessed her in much the same way. "There is no honor guard," he noted.

"Our honor is above reproach," Della snapped, challenging Banker. Azkadellia almost couldn't breathe at the sound of his tone, at the sparks that must be in his eyes. It would give them away, surely. It would cause him to suspect...

Banker smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was a thin smile, placating without being reassuring. He didn't care what they thought of him, he didn't care to get involved. "Perhaps. But it is unusual. Again, it makes me wonder at the journey's purpose."

"You can wonder," Della said evenly. "If you contact Central City, even our Captain is unawares. Feel free to do so."

"Oh, I believe you," Banker returned, thin smile slipping easily from his face. "What is it that you want, then, Paul Della of Central City's Homicide division? I see two homicide tin men and one fallen princess. I see no team, nothing to infer your purpose. How am I to know that this isn't staged? How am I to know that the Sorceress hasn't bewitched you all into getting this far to destroy the last foothold of decency in the north?"

Della met his gaze without flinching at the icy tone. "I suppose you don't." He paused, hands still at his sides. He seemed more like the granite golem of Azkadellia's nightmares suddenly, not the man who had gently held her through her tears. She could almost see the hard edges of him, the planes of stone that met at razor sharp corners. This was why he had done so well in Central City's underbelly. This was why no one wanted to cross him. There was that edge there, that capacity to intimidate, that capacity to inflict harm if he so chose. "We need supplies and transport north, nothing more."

"Supplies?"

"The north gets even colder. We were not given appropriate wear for such climates."

Banker leaned back, that slick smile gracing his lips again. "I see. And our workings here are so overflowing that you can take such things?"

"Three sets of north wear and transport, nothing more." Della didn't move from his position, didn't waver in his expression. His voice never rose, but remained its same deep tone. Still, it commanded respect.

"You will have to earn such a thing."

"Name your price."

Azkadellia wanted to run when Banker's eyes slid to her. She wanted to tug at Della's sleeve and be excused. She would rather brave the hallway with its dozen soldiers hating her than this room. The temperatures were glacial, the words full of barbs. She needed _out,_ but couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot as she had been in the cave as a child. There was no room to move, no room to make even the slightest error. _I need to get out of here..._

"The bauble around the princess's neck would feed my men for a month."

It was a gift from her mother from before the possession. It was a clear crystal, the royal insignia engraved on the back, that was meant to be used as a focus in meditation when practicing magic. It had been her mother's and her mother's mother's before that. Azkadellia wanted to cover it from Banker's gaze, to rip it from her neck and hide it in her pocket.

"It isn't a mere bauble," Della said, flicking a glance at the item in question. "But if it's money or jewels you need, we have that." He nodded at Callan, who removed a small pouch from his pocket and placed it on the desk with sharp, efficient motions that Azkadellia had never seen before. "This should feed your men for the rest of the annual if appraised correctly."

Banker opened the pouch and revealed cut crystals, diamonds and rubies. He looked up shrewdly. "And if I hadn't demanded payment?"

"It would have been offered gladly even so. We are tin men," Della replied stiffly. "We uphold the code to the letter and beyond."

The pouch was swiftly closed and swept into a desk drawer. "I see that."

"Perhaps the Princess should be escorted elsewhere while we converse," Callan added, voice formal and measured. Azkadellia wanted to weep at the sound of it.

Banker's eyebrow rose in surprise. "Oh?"

"She is a Princess, Commander," Della said, flicking a glance at Callan, who stilled. "I suppose it might be easier to make arrangements if we didn't have to explain details to her."

Banker nodded slowly, eyes raking over Azkadellia's still form. They lingered on her face a fraction too long for propriety, then he gave a short nod. He picked up the large black stone that had been on his desk and brought it crashing down onto the desk. Azkadellia flinched, but otherwise didn't startle. Immediately, the doors behind them opened. She kept her eyes on Banker, who looked almost triumphant.

"Show the Princess to our guest quarters. Once our business here is concluded, the Central City tin men may be escorted there as well. They will rest here and leave in the morning."

The guards at the door bowed at Banker, then turned and left the room. Azkadellia sketched a curtsy usually reserved for nobility. "My thanks, Commander."

Startled, Banker watched them leave. Callan shut the door when the remaining guards outside made no move to. "That was... formal."

"The Princess is nothing like the Sorceress," Callan remarked, moving back into his prior position. He kept his stony, formal face in place as Banker assess him critically. It was likely another slip, but it could be in any of a number of inoccuous ways as well.

"Very well," Banker said. "You wanted to discuss things?"

"It is critical that we reach the north quickly," Della told him.

"I see that," Banker remarked. He gestured at the chairs to the side of his desk. "Please, sit down. You were certainly right, Della. Things are easier here without the princess. Her presence here makes the men uneasy."

"She is no longer possessed. She is no longer the Sorceress."

"That's not why they worry, tin man," Banker said, voice sharp. "Exiled Longcoats still scurry in the woods. They fear revolt and further mayhem if news of her presence here goes on."

"It seems that news travels fast around these parts," Della remarked, voice deceptively casual.

"No one is above detection," Banker replied icily. He folded his hands together over his belly. "Are these jewels real? Or will they vanish once she leaves?"

"They are provided by the Queen herself." Della looked at him coolly. "Check again if you like."

"No, I believe you. No such gems would exist around these parts, and especially not of such size. Our outpost is too far north for most trade to reach, and there are few villages able to deal with such things. But the gesture is certainly a grand one. Very royal."

The three men sat in silence for a long moment. No one moved. Callan wanted to scratch the itch on the side of his nose, but didn't move. Getting Azkadellia out of the room had already been pushing his luck.

"Three sets of northern wear and transport," Banker mused. "We may have such things here."

"It will be very much appreciated."

"You don't ask for foodstuffs or weapons," Banker observed.

"We wouldn't want to deplete stores any more than necessary."

"You live off the land, then?" Banker guessed.

"If necessary," Della affirmed.

Banker seemed to approve of that, and nodded. "Rest might be appropriate before you continue north. There are no roads once you reach the Winter Palace."

"We are aware. If possible, we should continue right away."

Banker's smile was sharp and full of teeth. "I insist. Hospitality for fellow tin men is important, and so is leaving a good impression on royal visitors."

Unable to see a polite way to refuse, Della merely nodded. "We leave at first light. Will everything be ready by then?"

"You can be sure of it," Banker replied, satisfied. "I will personally attend to it."

***

Their gazes were sharp, edged things. Azkadellia walked, back straight and head held high. She was a princess, she had been the victim. She just had to remember that. Callan and Della had all but drummed that into her head for the past week, and she had been starting to believe it.

That made the overt cruelty so much more difficult to bear.

She murmured her thanks when brought to the visiting quarters. It was a large sitting room in front, then a bedroom and attached bath in the back. There was no obvious place for the tin men to be in this same room. What was Banker playing at? If he was truly so concerned about propriety, this room screamed _impropriety_ and should have been avoided.

She crossed her arms in front of her and sat down on one of the couches in the front sitting room. She didn't know how much time it would take to trade agendas or posture enough for Banker to at least let them go on. Azkadellia regretted the decision to go to the outpost. They could have managed. She could have tried the travel spells. She could have done _something._ She should have done something, anything else than simply walk into the center of one of the resistance camps. They had been too tense when discussing things amongst themselves the day before. She should have realized how bad it would be when they deliberately didn't include her on the details. It was too much to hope that anyone else would have been open minded enough to separate her from the Sorceress, that the news of her possession would temper their reactions.

Azkadellia felt numb and cold, stiff with disappointment. She had hoped too much. She had wanted too much. There was no point to that, no point in wanting anything. She had known that, but the past week had undone all of that. Only a week, and already she had forgotten the ingrained lessons learned while watching the witch move through her body.

There was no running away from herself, much as she would like to.

She looked up grimly when the door opened again. She had no idea how much time passed or where her mind had wandered to while she was trying to keep herself from crying. She didn't want to cry here; she didn't know who might be listening or watching.

Della and Callan came into the room, faces grim. Callan pressed a finger against his lips in the signal to be silent as Della swept past her to begin searching the room. Callan knelt in front of her and placed his head in her lap. Azkadellia threaded her fingers through his wild hair and blinked back tears that threatened to form. She swung her gaze about to Della, who was very busy dismantling the furniture in the sitting room and running his fingers over every available hidden surface.

"How did negotiations go?" she asked, voice free of any warbling. It seemed a safe enough topic.

Callan pulled back and sat on his haunches. "It went well enough. We have the supplies, at least. We'll set out in the morning."

"First light," Della clarified, voice sharp.

Azkadellia and Callan both turned and watched as he detached a listening device from beneath the end table.

Callan didn't even bother to swear. They knew it was a possibility; the Northern Cross had always been a fairly suspicious brand of tin man, and had always been a hotbed of dissidents during the Sorceress' reign. If there had been any worry about their arrival, they would have been damn sure to try and ferret it out. He squeezed Azkadellia's hands and joined in the search. They turned up listening devices of different shapes and sizes in most of the hiding places they looked for. It was obvious that they didn't believe they had gotten them all, either.

"What to do with these, then?" Callan asked, looking at Della. "With their lack of resources, I wouldn't want to just destroy them."

"That wouldn't go over well, no matter what else happened," Della confirmed.

Callan pursed his lips. "Hold on. I have an idea." He ran to the bedroom and got a pillowcase from one of the pillows as well as a glass from the nightstand. He swept all of the devices into the pillowcase, bunched the rest of the fabric around them and shoved them into the glass.

"There's something," Azkadellia said, voice almost raspy from tension. "So now what?"

"You need rest, Princess," Della told her, face finally softening fractionally. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow, even with transport."

She shivered and stood. "Of course."

Of course he couldn't call her Delia. Of course he couldn't touch her. Of course he couldn't hold her. Of course.

"I'm going to draw a bath," she said, trying to make sure she sounded as unruffled as possible. "You've already checked the bathroom?"

"There aren't any visual devices, only aural ones," Della told her. He almost reached out for her, but stopped at the last moment. "It should be safe."

Azkadellia nodded, unable to speak. "All right, then," she murmured.

She leaned against the bathroom door after closing it behind her and struggled to get her breathing under control. She had done this before. She could do this again. It didn't have to hurt as much as it did. It didn't have to be strange. She had spent months with a mask in place, and she had been fine. She had been a hollow shell of a creature, but she had been _fine._

She ran the water and stripped. The water was just shy of scalding, but it was exactly what she needed. Azkadellia sat in the tub, limbs pulled tight around her. With the water still filling the tub, she felt safe enough to let the sobs loose. Her heart wasn't breaking, that wasn't it. She knew they loved her. They were trying to protect her. She was going along with this to protect them, too. But she just felt so alone, so tiny and insigificant and fragile. She was twelve years old again and left behind in that cave to be possessed. Those eyes, those endless rows of eyes on the way to the guest suite had flayed her bare. They didn't know that, couldn't know that, but she still felt it. Each pair branded her a traitor, a blemish on the royal line. It was her fault the OZ had faltered over the past fifteen annuals. It was her fault. If she had been stronger somehow, if she had fought back harder. It didn't matter how many punishments the witch had given her. It didn't matter how deep the scars ran. She should have fought back harder, should have done more.

Azkadellia shut off the taps when her tears slowed. She sniffled and sat there, water up to her chin in the deep tub. It wouldn't take much to simply slip beneath the surface, drown in the waters the way the witch had always threatened to do.

But Callan and Della and DG would mourn her. They still loved her, no matter what she did or didn't do.

The quiet in the outpost was a different kind of quiet than it had been in the palace. Here, it was barbed and deceptive, hiding armed men ready to kill at a word. No one was safe in it, no one was exempt. In the palace, the quiet was suffocating, cloying, hiding the whispers in the corners. She wasn't sure which was worse.

Azkadellia left the bathroom wrapped in a robe that had been provided in the room. She didn't doubt that it was probably suspect, but she hadn't wanted to go through the motions to dress herself and sit in silence. There was no point. She had managed to rifle through her memory and find a silencing spell. She could easily contain it in a bubble large enough to sit inside. She could hide in there if she had to.

Callan noticed it first as he was taking off his uniform jacket. He nodded over to the bedroom door and Della looked up. It was almost eerie, how they could silently communicate, how they _knew_ they could be heard and just seemed to move through it as if it was second nature. Maybe it was, Azkadellia didn't know. She was concentrating on her silenced bubble, a large sphere that glowed a faint cotton candy pink. It could probably fit two people stretched along the floor lengthwise. Probably. Maybe.

All right. It definitely could. She just didn't want to get her hopes up.

Callan ducked his head into the room as she pulled one of the blankets off of the bed and shook it out. She had left the door open. "Feeling a bit better?"

"Yes, thank you," Azkadellia said politely. She folded the blanket in half once she was sure there were no listening devices on it or in it. She laid it down on the floor inside of her spell bubble. They were so polite and proper now, dancing around each other and not reaching out. Distant, as they had started. She couldn't go back to that time even if she wanted to. Being thrust into this situation made it painfully obvious. She couldn't just scurry about in corners hoping everyone would forget about her involvement.

Something in his eyes softened, and he pressed his finger to his lips again. She nodded and pointed to the sphere. She dropped the robe to the side and stepped into the sphere. "It should work," she tried to shout. "You shouldn't hear anything out there."  
Callan could only see her mouth move, but there was no sound. He smiled appreciatively, lips curling almost sensuously. He knew she was smarter than anyone gave her credit for. The smile turned into a full grin as he turned to Della and indicated the bedroom behind them. Della shot him a questioning look, but went about finishing up the security measures he had started. Anyone listening would have been disappointed at how little he was planning to say.

Callan stripped himself down to skin as well. He wouldn't put it past any of the guards to have slipped something into a pocket or sleeve, even if he hadn't felt it. There was no need in taking any chances. He grinned at Azkadellia's raised eyebrow and crossed the threshold of the spell. It was warm and tingly, rather like the subtle difference walking between a cool and warm room. He caught her about the waist and kissed her hard on the mouth, one hand tangling in her damp hair. "You are brilliant," he told her. "Just perfect."

"If I were really brilliant, I'd figure out how to do the transportation spell for the three of us."

"Don't care," he said, leaning in to kiss her again. "Then I'd never have you."

She reveled in the feel of him, in his hands on her body, the sound of their kisses almost shockingly loud. "And Paul..."

"Is finishing up. He'll be here soon enough, love." She had needed to hear that. Azkadellia didn't know if they realized how much she had needed that.

Sure enough, Della soon stripped himself down to the skin and walked into the bubble. Callan had already guided Azkadellia down to the floor and was inside her. " His strokes were harder and more erratic than usual, as if in a rush. And maybe they were. Maybe it was only a matter of time before someone checked in on them to see why they were so quiet. He came long before she was even close, collapsing on top of her. "We'll be out of here soon, Delia. Just hang on until then, sweetheart."

She blinked back tears as he left and redressed hastily. She turned to Della, who had settled into a seated position beside her. "They think I'm evil, don't they?" she whispered, lip warbling.

"Well, Banker did mention Longcoats hiding in the woods. That counts for some of it." Della pulled her into his lap. She straddled him and curled around his torso. "You worried about it?"

"Worried about you. You're... different. You're the golem."

That dream before, where he had ripped out her heart. He had barely gotten her to describe what had terrified her so much about it. Della sighed and simply stroked her back. "Delia, we all have our parts to play. That's just one of them. People see what they want to."

"And me?" she whispered. "What am I?"

"The princess we rescued," he murmured, drawing her close. "The one we vow to protect with our lives."

Tears slipped out from beneath her shut eyelids. When did she become this sobbing thing, this fragile creature made of tears? "If I have to continue without you..."

"Never," Della said sharply, cutting her off. He kissed her, slow and sweet, cock stirring between her legs. "You're stuck with the both of us, Delia." He kissed her again, turning so that he was lying on his back and she was on top of him, her hair falling down around them. "I'm not going anywhere without you, and neither is that fool Callan."

She smiled at him, relieved and disheartened at once. She wouldn't be alone, but she didn't want them dying for her. Azkadellia rode him hard, hands linked together, gasping for breath. Every stroke made her want to cry. This relationship between the three of them was as vital as air. Was that love? Maybe that was the closest thing she could come to it. Maybe it was more than love.

Whatever it was, she would break apart the world to save it if she had to.

***  
***


	16. Rapid Fire

DG wanted to throttle Ozma.

Okay, that wasn't very new. She was always wanting to throttle Ozma over something or other. Surely the girl couldn't actually survive in this world with a memory like a sieve. Surely the girl couldn't survive if she stumbled across every last dangerous trap in an enchanted forest. Surely she couldn't survive if everyone was fed up with her whining and posturing. Right?

Cain sat DG down in front of the fire he built. "You have that little mobat there to take care of, all right?" he reminded her. She had seemed close to homicide just before he had intervened. While Ozma wasn't quite his favorite person either, he didn't actually want her killed. Besides, she was still their only entry into the Dawn Sanctuary.

"Midnight can help me," DG told him earnestly. "He can train to be a big, scary mobat that yanks people off their feet and carries them off to places they don't want to go."

Cain sighed and grasped her hand. No one was looking anyway. "Give me a moment, all right? Ine'che said she would help."

DG blinked. She smiled, understanding sinking in. "Ah... to do that mating thing."

"Yes. So if you let me bundle Ozma off somewhere..."

"Shoo. That's a princessly order. Then you come back and get naked."

Shaking his head in amusement, Cain rose and walked over to where Ozma, Ine'che and Bruce were sitting. "Everything all right here?"

"Is Dorothy all right?" Ozma asked, looking up fearfully. Her lips trembled as if she was about to cry, and she had her hands clasped in front of her chest. "She looked so odd, she might be sick."

Sighing, Cain decided to take that and run with it. "She needs some time apart from the rest of you. I'm sure it'll be all right by morning." He ignored Ine'che's smirk at the words. "Are you all right here?"

"I have Sir Bruce," Ozma replied, smiling like a small, lost child. "He'll protect me."

"The child is safe. She'll sleep deeply," Ine'che told him, voice droll. "We will stand guard. Protect your princess."

He smiled his thanks at her. "That I will."

Ozma leaned into Ine'che and curled up. "Can you tell me a bedtime story?" she asked the wyvern. "Pretty please?"

Cain nearly laughed at the disgruntled sound Ine'che made, but it would definitely divert Ozma's attention. Bruce was practically her shadow, so he wouldn't move either.

DG was poking at the fire with a downcast expression on her face when Cain returned. "Do you think we'll get back to the OZ?" she asked quietly, looking at the dancing flames. "Do you think Mom will forgive me for running away?"

"You're worried about her?" he asked, sitting beside her.

"She endured a lot because of me," DG told him glumly. She looked up and put on a smile. "I can't help but wonder why she bothers if I keep failing like this, you know?"

"What brought this on?"

DG nodded with her head in Ozma's direction. "She called me a nasty, selfish witch. Now, she's a complete and utter waste of space half the time, but what if there's something to it?"

Cain put an arm around her shoulders and let her drop her head onto his shoulder. "You didn't pay attention to what she said before. Why now?"

"I did. I was just too mad at her." She looked up with wide eyes. "I don't think I'm that bad. And I told you I can be selfish. But nasty? Really?"

Cain kissed her forehead. "I wouldn't put too much stock in that part."

DG kissed him softly on the lips. "You wouldn't tell me if I was." She smiled at him fondly. "I have you wrapped around my little finger."

"You just like to think so."

Laughing, DG pushed Cain over onto his back. "Are they really not paying attention?"

"Not at all. And if you keep quiet, the brush could hide us."

With some effort, DG converted the jeans into a skirt. "That'll help preserve your modesty," she teased. She straddled him easily, and it was very obvious that there was nothing beneath the skirt but skin.

Cain could only grin at her as she opened the front of his pants. "Someone is a little excited."

"Someone was waiting all day to get into your pants." She grinned as she leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose. "You're just lucky I can be patient."

"Patient?" he asked, amused as she dragged one of his hands to the juncture of her thighs. "Oh, yes, I can see that."

"Hush, you." DG grinned and wrapped a hand around his cock. "There's work to be done."

Cain smiled and slipped a finger inside of her. DG's breath caught, and her hand tightened around him. "Easy," he murmured. "It hasn't been _that_ long."

"Feels like it."

"Trust me, it hadn't been." He slid his finger in and out slowly, agonizingly slowly, and DG sucked in a breath. Her other hand fluttered across his chest, catching hold of his uniform shirt and tugging sharply. "I've only got the one shirt. Be careful."

"I'll make you a new one," DG told him breathlessly. "Just... Keep going. Don't even think about stopping." She tilted her hips, giving him better access, and found herself rocking against his hand. "Like that," she moaned, throwing her head back.

Cain worked her with his fingers, in and out, thumb at her clit. She bucked against him, biting her lip to keep from crying out as the pleasure built and finally broke. She shook with the force of the orgasm, fist tight and almost painful around his erect cock. He sucked in a breath, and she slowly released him. "Careful, Deeg. That's sensitive equipment there."

She chuckled, short of breath. "I have to remember that."

He slid his fingers deeply inside of her, making her arch her back abruptly, a whimpering noise deep in her throat. He thrust them into her in a steady rhythm, his other hand palming her breast through the T shirt. He tried to steel himself against her touch, against her thumb running circles across the head of his cock, against the scent of her arousal. He didn't say anything else. There was no need to. He coaxed another orgasm out of her, then another. She muffled her mewling noises by biting her lip or covering her mouth, and Cain found himself stroking her even harder as a result. He wanted to push her, to make her wild with pleasure. Even knowing that the others weren't so far away, he wanted to hear his name on her lips.

DG grabbed his hands and stilled them. "God, I need you in me so much," she hissed, almost desperately. She sank down contentedly on top of him. "Mmm," she murmured, settling down into a comfortable position. "I never get tired of this."

Cain drew her down on top of him and then rolled over so that he was on top of her. She made a little squeaking noise, but clung to him through the roll. "Let me," he began, leaning in for a kiss. He seized her mouth with his for a searing kiss. "I wanted this all day, too."

She giggled and grasped his face in her hands. "So you were thinking naughty thoughts about me, were you?"

Cain's grin was answer enough, as was the rocking of his hips. He moved slowly, agonizingly slowly, enjoying the look of shocked pleasure on her face. This part always seemed new, always seemed wondrous. He loved the way her lips parted, the way her eyes fluttered shut as she struggled to draw in her next breath. He loved the feel of her hands grasping at his shoulders, sliding along his back, cupping his buttocks to try to pull him deeper inside. He kissed her as though his life depended on it. Maybe it did; he couldn't imagine life without her any longer, couldn't imagine living without her touch.

DG hooked her leg through his and pushed hard enough to make Cain fall to his side. She rolled over on top of him, careful to make sure he didn't slip out of her. "Too slow," she muttered, pushing herself up onto her hands, straddling him. She rocked against him hard and fast, eyes rolling back into the back of her head as she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Cain reached up and rolled her nipples between his fingers as best as he could through her clothing. She gasped, eyes fluttering as she arched into his touch. He could feel her tighten around him, could hear her breath quicken.

"Almost," she whimpered, feeling his fingers tighten over her nipples. "I can't... I can't hold on longer. I wanted..."

She came with a groan, feeling as though she was about to bite through her tongue to keep from crying out. If this was the way it was going to feel, she would have to have her bedroom soundproofed as soon as she returned to the palace.

Cain laughed as she collapsed on top of him. He rolled her over onto her back and knelt between her limp, spread legs. "Don't fall asleep on me yet," he teased, grasping her thighs. He lifted her hips over his knees and plunged deeply inside of her. Her eyes fluttered open as he began to move. "Watch me," he murmured softly, eyes locked to hers. Her lips parted as she tried to breathe, as she felt him slide and hit that oh so good spot that never failed to send her into a tizzy. Even better, he brought one hand to her clit, stroking her in time to his thrusts. She reached out for him, catching hold of his forearm. She held on tight, needing something to ground her as she arched into him, as she tried to remember how to breathe.

But then reality fractured, and she didn't need to remember.

He must have come at some point soon after, because DG could feel him start to slow down. He settled on top of her, careful to keep from crushing her beneath him. "We can ditch the kids, can't we?" she asked almost plaintively. "Ozma will pitch a hissy fit of epic proportions if she knew we were sleeping together."

"Hiding this from her?" he asked, voice quiet and still. Ozma was annoying, but she held similar beliefs to the majority of the OZ's elite. DG would have to face similar censure on a daily basis if she really did take him as consort.

"I don't want her joining in," DG yawned, snuggling close to Cain. "I was an only child growing up. I never learned to share."

Cain snorted. "That seems to be the least of our problems."

"I'm sorry I messed things up," DG murmured, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "Not for the being with you part, but for everything else. I really am sorry."

"I believe you," he told her with a sigh. "We'll figure something out."

He couldn't help but feel as though he was missing something important, though he couldn't recall what it might be. The feeling nagged at him as he fell asleep in DG's arms.

It felt almost like being watched.

***

"Get up. _Now."_

Della woke instantly as Callan shook him awake. Azkadellia tried to burrow closer to Della's warmth and squeeze her eyes shut. Callan shook her as well once Della sat up and looked around. She was groggy, and looked between the two men, confused. "What's happening?"

"There's shouting and I heard mention of a Princess. It wasn't clear, but it sounds like a coup."

Della swore softly and pushed his way out of Azkadellia's bubble of silence to dress. Callan remained kneeling there for a moment as Azkadellia shook her head to clear it. "Delia, we haven't much time." He took her face in his hands and kissed her desperately. "I'm sorry, I was such an idiot. I keep pushing and pushing and you never say to stop and I really shouldn't have done it. I never know when to quit, it's why Della calls me an idiot all the time. But you really have to get out of here now, if they're looking for you."

The panic seeped in through the sleepy haze and Azkadellia looked around. She was still naked, her discarded clothing still in the bathroom. "But what...? I don't understand..."

"You have to go. Can you do that bubble travel thing you talked about? The one the witch was scared of?" She nodded, almost frightened. She had never done it before, but she could probably pull it off without killing herself in the process. "Good. You have to do it. You have to get out of here and be safe."

"I can't go without you, Benji," Azkadellia whimpered. "I can't go without Paul."

"We'll catch up."

"Where?"

"We'll meet you at the Winter Palace," he said firmly, hands sliding down to her shoulders. "We have to get you out of here." There was a crash from down the hall. "They're closer now. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the Longcoats in the forest."

"But..."

Della, fully dressed, walked back into the bubble. With the three of them in it, it was getting too crowded. "Definitely sounds like an attack," he said, nodding at Callan. "Delia..."

"Will go to the Winter Palace," Callan said firmly, staring at Azkadellia. She looked up at them with wide eyes. It was happening too quickly to process. "We'll follow when it's safe, but your safety is our priority. You have to be out of here. We can get out of here, it's what we've been trained to do. You know how the Longcoats were."

"I can help you, then!"

Callan shook his head. "Delia, you can't. You have to go north to fight the Ice Witch. It's your presence that will fix things."

"He's right," Della agreed. "I'll try to draw them away from here, down that hallway. It should give you enough time to escape."

"Paul!" she cried as he left the bubble. She looked at Callan and placed her hands over his on her shoulders. "What will happen to him?"

"He's tough," Callan replied in an effort to be lighthearted. It wasn't the same tone as in the forest, not quite. He was hiding something from her, and she didn't like that one bit. "He'll be fine. We're both trained tin men, you realize."

"Something's happening," she said, shaking her head. "You're not telling me..."

"You know what you need to know," Callan returned shortly. He grasped her arms and helped her stand. "You need to get out of here. You have to be safe."

"I can't leave you both here!"

"You can and you will," he told her firmly. He kissed her again. "I'll find you. Della will find you. As soon as it's safe, we'll be with you. You're not alone, Delia, don't ever forget that."

He sounded so desperate, as if he was marching toward certain death, and Azkadellia couldn't help but shiver.

Callan led her to the bathroom and helped her put the dress back on. He simply shoved her corset and traveling bag at her. Azkadellia took down the silence bubble, tears in her eyes. "Be safe," he murmured, cupping her face with his hand. She felt small and insignificant at the move, and it felt as though her chest was too tight to breathe properly. "Whatever else happens," Callan began gently, "just be safe."

He kissed her one last time, and it was full of desperation and longing.

Azkadellia backed up and went through the witch's old transportation spell quickly. It would allow her to pass through all things unimpeded until she reached her destination. The spell could be altered, but she wasn't used to it and didn't understand the magic in the spell well enough. If she had more time to experiment with it...

The pink bubble of magic enclosed her and began to move from the sitting room area. It passed through the stone walls, then rapidly flew across the countryside.

Callan watched it go with a sigh of relief. He was an idiot of significant magnitude, but he was also a tin man. He pulled his gun from his belt and made sure the dagger at his waist was still there. He didn't have too many extra bullets, and it sounded like a riot in the outpost. It had started out small, almost like an argument too near the guest quarters. The argument seemed to spiral out of control, and he heard the shout "Longcoats!" Luckily Della was easy to wake from their years of trading off shifts.

He had promised they would be there at the Winter Palace, and he had every intention of keeping that promise.

***

They were being followed again, Cain was sure of it. There was nothing obvious, no shimmering shadows out of the corner of his eyes or in mirrors. He just had this nagging feeling that he was being followed, that something wasn't quite right. The last time he had the crawling feeling along his spine, Ozma had been watching them through enchanted mirrors. This time, they were in an enchanted forest. Now the trees grew closer together, as if they were able to move, as if they were able to thicken overnight. The shadows were darker, and Midnight clung to DG for dear life. Ozma flitted about like a brilliant butterfly, unaware of the dangers. Having worked with the Resistance and in Central City's underbelly, Cain knew that it wasn't safe. He knew too much about the darker side of things, the horrors waiting patiently beneath the edges of consciousness. He doubted he could explain it even if he wanted to.

It was dangerous in the forest, and Cain knew that there was no easy way out of it. There was no longer any way back onto the Old Road. Ozma had broken the protection spells by stepping from the path, and now they were all lost.

Even Ozma seemed to understand that their situation wasn't a laughing matter. The map was blank as to details about the forest. Ine'che had called it a soft place, a place where the lands were likely to shift, where the inherent magic of the place roiled and corrupted.

Cain tried to cut back the underbrush as much as he could, but the poor excuse of a sword that Bruce had brought with him from the Keep wasn't up to the task. Its edge was dull and its weight was off. While it was better than nothing, it wasn't a very good tool at all. DG had tried to fix it, but her magic hadn't been able to touch it. All her magic seemed to do was shake off the rust, and the shower of red flakes hit the forest floor. It looked too much like fresh blood, like a gaping wound that would never heal.

That night, he grouped everyone together despite DG's protests. He had to turn away from her eyes. She wanted him with her, inside her, around her. She wanted him, and she kept ignoring his warnings that it would go badly. She didn't seem to understand it, content in her self assurance and certainty that she could change the world to suit her liking. Cain knew what reality was like, what darkness hid inside the court. The whispers would undo her, would cause her to crumble to pieces. She would stop being the DG that he loved more than life itself.

He couldn't do that to her. He couldn't allow her to destroy herself.

His breathing was too harsh, too strained. _I can't even tell her. She wouldn't understand. She would think I'm being overprotective again._

Something wasn't right in the forest. It was too quiet, too still, too dark.

It was like being back inside the iron maiden he had been imprisoned in, and a sheen of sweat covered his brow. He could feel it, the creeping feelings, the need to scratch at crawling skin that he could never reach. He could almost feel the unyielding walls of the iron maiden, feel the oppressive heat and stench of sweat and filth and decay. It smelled like hopelessness and fear, defeat and misery.

_I would have died alone in there, half out of my mind. I would have given up hope, consumed by rage and misery. I could have..._ He stopped the thought right there. The iron maidens made suicide impossible, though it wouldn't have stopped him from trying to figure out some means to an end.

He was standing still, but it almost felt as though he was shifting inside of his own skin. He was restless, in perpetual motion, feeling a universe begin and expand inside of him. Yet, he knew he was standing still, that nothing was spinning, nothing was moving. He could dimly hear the others settling in to sleep, the only sound in the forest. The forest was still, too still, too unnaturally still.

He could hear Adora's screams in the silence ringing in his ears.

He hadn't thought of that time since before the eclipse. He shouldn't be thinking of it now. It was gone, gone, nothing of it left. Every last coffin had been smelted down and poured into ingots to be reforged anew.

_But something of the pain and terror remains in the metal,_ he thought, a trickle of sweat running down his back. He had always pushed the thoughts away before, but now they unfurled before him in all their tangled majesty. There had never been time to contemplate the darkness in his memory, and now the unnatural silence seemed to draw them out of him. It felt almost against his will, but the thoughts had been there for some time. How many had died within the iron maidens, cursing the Sorceress and the dark rule over the OZ? How many had ineffectually tried to rise to the occasion, only to be condemned to a fate worse than death? _The ghost of their memory remains. The screams are still trapped in the metal grains. I know it can't be completely erased._

He was a tin man. There were always signs. There were always traces.

The forest was dark and deep and still, full of trees that merged overhead into a thick canopy where light couldn't filter through. Any saplings long since were dead, left to molder and feed the ancients struggling for more light. Their trunks were thick and their roots seemed to shift and sway, moving them where they needed to go.

Cain hadn't even seen any further life in the forest. If not for the mobat, he would have thought that there was nothing alive anymore. They were the only souls present, and they were all moving on borrowed time. Ine'che had said that the Sidhe were capable of terrible things, of horrors unspeakable. The forest was approaching the edge of Dawn, the edge of the sunless lands and the perpetual twilight that Ozma said Lurlaine favored. The stench of strange magicks made things more difficult for Ine'che, and she certainly didn't talk with any kind of detail if she didn't have to. The Sidhe were capable of things that Ine'che didn't want to discuss, and Ozma was strange. Ozma was tainted with it, whatever it was, and Ine'che didn't like thinking about what Ozma might be.

He deliberately tried not to think about DG. She didn't know about this place. She hadn't known when she tried to stop him from returning her to the OZ. She had been panicking, a child's reaction to responsibility and power. She was still a child in some way, no matter her posturing and her unerring touch. He shouldn't have thought that a relationship could be possible; status differences aside, he was dangerous. He could break her without meaning to, with a single look, a single word.

_Run,_ his mind whispered in Zero's voice. It was a sneer, a curling tendril of fear in the pit of his stomach threatening to blossom. He hadn't wanted Zero's hands on DG even before he realized what she might mean to him. _Run from her, then. Run and keep running, find your coffin and hide._

"Wyatt?"

He whirled around, hands closing on a delicate throat. Cain's hands tightened almost out of reflex, before he realized what he was doing.

DG clawed at his hands and pushed at his face, trying to distract him from the trance that he seemed to have fallen into. She kicked him in the shin, kneed him in the groin, whatever she could do to try to make him snap out of it. Her vision was starting to blur and go gray about the edges. It was harder to connect with Cain, and her fingers were slipping from his.

_I am going to die,_ she thought suddenly. That was sobering; she hadn't ever truly considered her own death before, not calmly at least.

She slid from Cain's fingers, barely conscious. He looked down at her in horror, as if waking from a nightmare, as if fully conscious for the first time. DG was still and unmoving, hovering close to death, and he was unable to process what he had just done.

"I didn't..." _I didn't mean to._

The others were asleep, unknowing. They didn't know what he had just done, what he had almost done. They didn't know of the monster that lurked beneath his waking nightmares.

DG had her hands around her throat, eyes fluttering as she tried to catch her breath. Cain knelt beside her and kissed her forehead reverently. "I'm no good for you," he murmured. "I told you that, didn't I? I guess we didn't know how right I was."

She couldn't speak, couldn't cry out as he stood up and turned away from her. Her magic was coming in stutters, slowly healing the bruises around her throat. "Wy..." she began hoarsely, reaching for him. She missed his leg, falling to the ground again as he walked away, heading deeper into the forest.

He didn't even look back.

***  
***


	17. Lost Among The Ruins

DG sat huddled in front of the fire, not really seeing the dancing flames. She had tried to follow Cain, but she had gotten lost and only had found camp again because of the fire. She was tired and cold and hungry, aching and upset. She didn't know what had happened, but Cain hadn't been himself. It had started slowly, building up throughout the day. He had been frustrated and tired, but she had hoped that a good night's sleep would help him recoup. Still, while everyone else settled to sleep, he had sat there, staring into the darkness of the forest. It had seemed almost solid around them, a malevolent presence, a _hunger_ that corrupted and stole things away into the night.

She rubbed her neck, still feeling the press of his fingers. The horror that had dawned when he saw her had told her more than enough. Whatever was in the forest had been eating at him, had changed him somehow. He would never hurt her, never. He would never have done something so horrible as choke her half to death.

_But he did. What do we do now?_ she thought miserably, feeling beaten before she had even begun to fight. How could she fight against an enemy she couldn't see?

Ine'che stirred first, and caught sight of DG's despondent expression as she stared into the fire, hand still around her throat. "What's happened?"

"Cain's gone," DG croaked, wincing. Magic may have healed the bruising, but she still felt the aftereffects. It would take more time before her throat felt normal again. She didn't feel terribly sorry, as if it was the last thing connecting them. Realizing that made her feel awful; isn't that what those silly girls back in Kansas said after their boyfriends beat them up? How was she any different? How was she better?

Ine'che's eyes narrowed. "Your throat troubles you."

She nodded, not wanting to speak any more than necessary. "There's something wrong with the forest," she finally said, when Ine'che's expression didn't change. "It changed him somehow. He was different."

"Your knight did this," Ine'che said incredulously. DG could only nod. "Your _mate_ did this to you?" DG nodded again, feeling tears well up. Ine'che pressed her lips together firmly. "I do agree with you. It was certainly something here that must have changed him. Corruptions always start small, in little unnoticeable ways."

DG stood up. "I tried to follow him, but I lost him."

"I know his scent by now," Ine'che replied, scanning the area around their fire. "It's... It's hard to explain, I suppose. But I could try to follow it as far as I can."

DG nodded at Ozma and Bruce as she picked up Midnight, who snuffled in his sleep and burrowed closer in her arms. "Them?"

Mouth forming a delicate moue of distaste, Ine'che shook them both awake. "We have an errant companion to find," she told them shortly. "Then we shall proceed to the edge of Dawn."

They all fell into line behind Ine'che as she tried to pick up Cain's scent. When Midnight woke up, he snuffled the air as well. DG thought that perhaps he was picking up on whatever Ine'che was following, and was learning how to track from her.

"What if it was not a mistake?" Ine'che asked, voice low. She hadn't talked much, and Ozma had kept up a steady stream of chatter that Bruce obligingly responded to in all of the right places. DG had been grateful that she didn't have to speak, didn't have to justify Cain's behavior or their search for him. "What if he truly meant to harm you?"

"I don't believe that," DG whispered hoarsely. She cleared her throat as Ine'che glared at her, a look that clearly told DG that she was being an idiot. "If that happens, I don't think I could kill him. I... I would have to leave him behind."

Ine'che was far from pleased, but accepted the answer. "We had been talking of the strange magicks here in the forest the other day," she began in that same low, conversational tone that Ozma naturally tuned out. "The Queen of the Sidhe likely did not take our comments lightly. As he has no magic, there is no way for him to defend himself."

"You think it's this Queen we're off to see?"

"The Sidhe are not kind, gentle folk, no matter how much they try to purport they are." Ine'che looked off into the distance, remembering. "They are far more cruel than any tale can convey. I could not begin to explain it."

DG laid a hand on Ine'che's arm. "We can fix him, can't we?" Her voice was coming back, and it no longer hurt to swallow. Hopefully fixing Cain could be as easy a task.

"For your sake," Ine'che said gently, "I hope we can."

***

The Winter Palace was still mostly encased in ice and snow. There was the gaping hole DG had broken in order to enter the palace, the same one Azkadellia and her Longcoats had used to follow her. The footsteps in the snow had long since been covered over by fresh snow and drifts from gale-force winds. The storms still came to the palace, even after her possession was over, just as it had nearly every day for the past fifteen annuals. She had cursed the place after a fashion, the Witch cackling in delight all the while. She had been a child still, with all the petty jealousies of childhood. In some ways, Azkadellia wasn't that far removed from the girl she had been. The Witch had bided her time after her possession at Fenaqua, learning the ways the royal family interacted with each other, earning Azkadellia's trust. _See how I help you?_ the Witch had crooned. The dark days to come would silence that tone, but Azkadellia had listened then. She had wanted to discount her own fear. _You see? I'm no horrid creature. I'm not a broken thing. Let me help you. Let me show you._

Then had come the prophecy. The rhyme.

The murder.

When Azkadellia rebelled, the Witch swiftly created her own kind of punishment. Azkadellia had fought, but there was no turning back at that point. She was too far gone, too lost. She was alone, and had been pushed aside inside her own mind. She hadn't thought she could ever recover from her mistake.

Azkadellia watched the Winter Palace loom large in her vision her transportation bubble approached it. It didn't need to go through the hole that DG had created, but it did so anyway. Possibly because Azkadellia still thought of it as the entrance to the Winter Palace, or because she wanted to feel close to her sister. DG was gone for almost two weeks now. Cain had disappeared as well, and Azkadellia could only hope that the tin man had found DG and was keeping her safe.

The bubble burst open just outside the door to the palace. The door was still open, and snow had fallen inside the vestibule leading to the Great Hall with its decorative parquet floor and pillars. The chill wind whipped around Azkadellia, pulling her dress from her frame. She clutched her arms to her chest even tighter, head bowed. It was cold this far north, and would grow even colder as they went farther north. The Witch had asked for ice and snow. She had asked for frozen water in the north, and Azkadellia had been too desperate for her approval. _See what a friend I am?_ they would say to each other. She was locked inside her head, and it was the only kind of approval she thought she could get.

_You can trust me,_ the Witch whispered. It became _Do what I tell you to do!_ soon enough, but in the beginning especially it was hard to tell where Azkadellia began and ended and where the Witch began and ended.

_I know everything the Witch knows,_ Azkadellia thought grimly, lifting her head up. She pushed her way past the snow drift into the Winter Palace.

Azkadellia felt the warmth of palace like a physical thing, stopping her in her tracks. The palace's natural protective spells had been active for annuals, keeping the worst of Azkadellia's childish winter storms at bay. It was warm in the palace, almost inviting.

_Welcome home,_ the palace seemed to say. _I missed you._

It felt like her heart was breaking. All that lost time, wasted, those annuals hating and being jealous of a dead girl. All those annuals trapped beneath the Witch's thumb, trapped inside her own body. Maybe she hadn't fought enough. Maybe she hadn't been strong enough. Maybe she hadn't tried the way she could have because she didn't want to, didn't think she should. Maybe she hadn't thought she deserved any better, had thought she deserved to be controlled for not being good enough.

She sank to her knees just inside the palace's warmth. She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, but couldn't see anything past her closed eyelids. This pain was a physical thing, a knot in her chest that burned and seethed and roiled. It hurt to breathe, to cry, to think. Her words of protest had been just that, words, no feeling or meaning behind them.

She remembered being a child and running between the pillars, heels clicking on the parquet floors. Her parents looked on her fondly, and the Advisors all clucked at the royal family. It wasn't seemly to play in the open hall, even if the Crown Princess was a small child. She had to learn decorum. She had to be proper. She had to learn her place.

She remembered DG, small and helpless even if she hadn't realized it at the time. Only a toddler, she had stumbled and crawled across the parquet floor, banging on the colors with a sheer love of the patterns. Azkadellia had swooped in and lifted her to her feet. She had helped DG step across the patterned floor, dancing to a tune she made up as they went along.

She remembered playing tag among the columns with DG and the royal cousins that had fled Central City when it was clear that Azkadellia wasn't herself. She remembered the games they played, the secrets whispered amongst each other. She remembered how annoying it was to have DG follow her everywhere, looking up to her. She remembered feeling a great pride at the same time. DG loved her, idolized her, adored her.

She remembered the great searches DG would initiate when it became apparent that she enjoyed exploring. She ignored Tutor's lessons and begged Azkadellia to help her look through the Winter Palace. The found the kitchens, the armory, the storage areas beneath the kitchens and the stables. They ran on horseback across the open fields. In those days the fields had been lush and green, cool but not cold. Winters were mild in the OZ, with snow never lasting very long on the ground. Only the far north was that cold, only the extreme north had ice and snow. Azkadellia remembered wishing for a snowstorm, to have enough snow to sink into and feel for more than a moment. She remembered telling DG about it, and the two of them trying to find a substitute for snow and getting into trouble for the mess.

She remembered killing her sister, drawing her life out with her breath.

She remembered the Witch's cold satisfaction. She remembered her mother, moving like an automaton, eyes downcast and averted. The Queen had known, but hadn't known why or how or what she could do in response. There had never been fratricide in the history of the OZ before. Azkadellia had been the first, the only one in the House of Gale that would have done such a thing. The Queen hadn't known what to do about it, and then the opportunity slipped away. There was nothing left to do but grieve a lost child, hide away from the encroaching darkness seeking to consume her other one.

_ One to darkness, she be drawn. And one to light, she be shown._

Two little princesses, both of them lost forever. Nothing could ever get them back.

Azkadellia didn't know when she began to sob, but somewhere along the line she had. Too many memories in this place, too many lost dreams left unfulfilled. She had done horrible things, had allowed herself to be coerced into worse. How DG could ever forgive her, she didn't know. She didn't know if she could forgive herself. The grumbles along the countryside were proof enough that the populace would never forgive her. Possession was an excuse, and a pitiful one at that. A real princess would have fought. A real princess wouldn't have given up.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, sobbing and rocking on her haunches. There was nothing for her here, nothing but pain.

That was all right. She deserved that.

***

The house was crumbling, but otherwise seemed safe enough. DG was reminded of the Cain house where she had found Wyatt Cain in the iron suit, miseries played out before him in a neverending loop. Ine'che refused to allow her to step foot into the house, just in case Cain still had malevolent feelings toward her. DG refused to believe he would ever want to harm her, but she let Ine'che go ahead. She couldn't explain Cain's behavior, and had to admit that she would never be able to inflict damage on him if she had to. "I love him too much for that," she had told Ine'che simply. The wyvern had smiled at her sadly, shaking her head, then moved into the crumbling house.

Ozma and Bruce were standing not far away from it, and Ozma was keeping up her monologue about the wonders of the Dawn Sanctuary. Bruce was smiling and nodding in all of the right places, but DG couldn't help but wonder if it was really all it was cracked up to be. If the Dawn Sanctuary was all that Ozma said, why would she travel so much? Why go out amongst others in a shifting landscape? And it didn't explain the Breakers at all.

With a sigh, DG sat down right where she was. She ignored Ozma's glare; it wasn't as if she cared about propriety anyway.

DG looked up when Ine'che appeared in the house doorway. Ine'che beckoned for her to follow, and DG rolled to her feet and jogged over to the house.

Inside, Cain was standing stock still, as if frozen. His eyes were open and unblinking, his mouth pinched tight in displeasure. DG poked his arm, and he was still warm to the touch. "What happened to him, do you think?"

"This is spellwork. Very nasty, very tough spellwork."

"Well? Can I undo it?"

DG placed both of her hands over Cain's chest even as Ine'che shook her head slowly. "This may not be safe," Ine'che warned.

"That's how I got here," DG groused. She closed her eyes, focusing on Cain. She remembered the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he looked at her when no one else was looking, the warmth of his hand on her skin, the feel of his lips on hers or how he felt deep inside of her. She tried to bring out the best of him, wherever it was buried.

"Nothing," Ine'che commented after several long minutes.

"I'm trying... I don't know what I'm trying. But I have to do something."

"Certainly. Though it would help if you knew what was done to him."

"How am I going to tell that? I wasn't here for this."

"This is not magic native to this land," Ine'che replied. "Or at least, not the standard kind of freezing spells that had been common hundreds of years ago."

"Magic can change, right? Stuff can happen so spells are different from what you knew. I think we're the only ones that came over from the OZ."

"That may be. But the Dawn Sanctuary can touch of different realms. And the Queen there has been known to do whatever she pleases to whomever she pleases."

DG dropped her hands from Cain's chest. "That's who you think is behind this."

Ine'che nodded sourly. "No proof, of course. But there have always been whispers, always been stories of magic gone wrong."

DG thought of Azkadellia suddenly, sitting in the shadows at the ball. No one would go near her because of whispers, because of accusations. Some of the whispers were likely true; DG didn't doubt that perhaps there were Longcoats in hiding hoping to reinstall her on the throne to get their power back. DG didn't doubt that people thought she hadn't been coerced at all, but had willingly enslaved the people. DG didn't doubt that everyone was afraid of Azkadellia, just as she didn't doubt that Azkadellia was truly sorry for every horrible thing the Witch had done when manipulating her body.

Sometimes the whispers just happened. Sometimes they were true. There was no way to tell ahead of time.

"Now what?" she asked, voice almost hoarse. "I can't just leave him here."

"No honorable mate would," Ine'che agreed. "But I have no ready answer for you."

Ozma had tried to talk about the way magic had felt for her, when she used to have it. Ozma had felt it as changes in temperature or pressure. Ine'che referred to magic as scent.

DG tried closing her eyes and feeling for magic. She felt stupid, though. How could she feel for magic when she hadn't even had any for that long? How could she understand what she saw, if she saw anything at all? But Cain needed her to try, else he would be frozen in the ruins of this house in the middle of this enchanted wood.

The enchantments in the forest were likely what was making the task harder.

It was almost like listening for the faint sounds of music from the next room. Or trying to discern colors in the half light of a darkened room.

Colors.

DG felt things shift into place when she hit on colors. Now it almost felt like she had a sketch pad in front of her, a box of colored pencils in front of her. The impossible forest, this big hulking stretch of soft place, was a dark olive green with a lot of black mixed into it. It was dark and brooding, melancholy, a lost place, a ruined place. Too many things had died here, too many things had been given up as lost.

There were bright spots, smudges of colors and shapes buried under the muddy forest colors. She could almost make them out, almost feel the edges of things as a palpable sense. Bright red, fiery red, blood red. _Dangerous_ red. Someone was out there that wished them harm, but it was a proxy kind of harm. Things were not as they seemed, not at all.

DG followed the sense of blood red magic until it spooled back into one place. The magic carried a sense of a secret about it. Hidden magic, sneaky and deeply hidden behind the darkness of the thick trees. There was something missing, something important, but she couldn't place it. Maybe because she didn't know enough about magic, maybe because she didn't know enough about this place and the oddities in it. This place was warped and strange, even to its own citizens, and it was hard to tell what was supposed to be normal.

But a blood red thread was wound all around Cain, buried deep beneath his skin and knotted tightly behind his open eyes.

_I mark you as my own. I take these chains of riverfel and bind them about you, and you will do my bidding. You will do all I say, in the name of my Master. You cannot fight me, cannot break me, not for a thousand days between worlds._

DG reached out, touched the red thread. It cut her fingers, and she drew her hand back, hissing in pain. She stuck her fingers in her mouth, tasting blood.

Ine'che looked at her in horror. "What did you do?"

"I... I don't know," DG said finally. "It's like for a while I could almost see it. Like it was a thread, something tied tight around him. But I can't even touch it."

"Thread magic?" Ine'che blinked. She seemed taken aback. "Definitely old magic, then. And not common in this place at all. But it hadn't been used in thousands of years."

"Maybe someone new figured it out?"

"Few creatures could," Ine'che murmured.

DG took in her downcast look and dreaded the answer to her inevitable question. "The Queen, right? She knows how to do this."

Ine'che nodded. "Of course she does. It's one of her specialties."

DG pressed her lips together and looked at Cain grimly. "Well, then. I guess it's just going to have to become one of my specialties."

***  
***


	18. Art Of Conversation

Azkadellia was exhausted after weaving together spells to cover the Winter Palace. Della or Callan would be able to find her wherever she was in the palace, and everyone else would simply turn around in circles, lost in the maze of hallways or stumbling blindly through the snow drifts outside. She felt utterly drained, hoping to simply dissolve into sleep. Somehow her feet led her to her old bedroom, still preserved and waiting exactly as she had left it all those annuals ago. It didn't sink in as she fell across the bed, inhaling the soft perfumed scent of the coverlet. This was where she had slept as a child. Just down the hall had been DG's room, had been her parents' room. She was drowning in the weight of memories, too exhausted to sort them out properly. The coverlet was warm and smelled like home, like safety and comfort and love.

Feeling almost safe, she slept.

Aliana had been young once. She had been young and beautiful and sure of herself. She and Cliara had been two halves of a whole, each controlling different aspects of the same element. Their homeland had been wonderful and beautiful, a perpetual dawn on the horizon, a faint edge of light that was never too bright or too hot. The land was perpetually in spring, yet water and ice could coexist simultaneously.

Then came the Schism. It was a bitter, bitter feud, and the sisters were exiled from their homeland. They were bound up inside their beloved element, hidden and kept isolated. The hatred turned and twisted them, and Aliana had managed to hook her claws into Azkadellia.

But she had been young once. She had loved once, and she had been sent away from the only place she had ever known. She took joy in tormenting Azkadellia, in creating another orphaned Practitioner, in ripping apart the lands she didn't care about to try and set her sister free. Cliara would be the same. Cliara would be angry and bitter and spiteful, raging alone.

Aliana was sitting alone in the center of a cavern, creatures she had smuggled with her flying lazily overhead. She looked sadly at Azkadellia, then patted the stone floor beside her. It was worn smooth by flowing water, though none could be found in the dank cavern. Azkadellia sat down beside Aliana, dressed in a shade of blue matching the deep sea. It had always been Azkadellia's favorite color.

"We didn't start off meaning for this to happen," Aliana said, voice soft and mournful. "It wasn't supposed to be this way. Things were supposed to get better. We were supposed to help the Court. We were going to try and help our niece."

Azkadellia shivered even though she wasn't cold. "What happened?"

"Time. Lies. More weavings than we could unweave. Take your pick, the result is always the same." Aliana's voice sounded dead now, empty. She was starting to change, starting to lose hope that she would be released. Following the death of hope, the rage would come. The anger and bitterness would twist her features, corrupt her further.

"Why are you here now?"

Aliana looked up, eyes old and difficult to fathom. "You brought me here, Azkadellia. You can't forget. You can't help but remember. But it wasn't always so. It wasn't always this way." Aliana looked at the ceiling of her cavern, at the lazily circling mobats and winged creatures. "You can still call them forth, if you like." She looked back at Azkadellia. "You know how. You can weave them into being. You can create them."

"Conjuring only works for inanimate objects. Food is the closest we can come to animation," Azkadellia recited, remembering her lessons from Tutor as a very small child. Once DG was of an age to begin the lessons, Tutor had already taught Azkadellia all she needed to know.

"Much of magic was lost," Aliana murmured. "Even the animate is subject to conjuring, to weaving. You know this. You've done it often enough with me at the helm. You've understood some of it, done other spells by instinct. Your instincts for magic have always been good. The teachers in this realm just never knew enough to truly teach you what you needed to know."

She had taken DG's life without a second thought, without the Witch's careful direction. The Witch had said to kill her, and Azkadellia had done it. She had wanted to prove herself to the Witch, to make herself be seen as someone worthy of the gift of magic. It had been almost instinctual to breathe her in, to swallow her down and incorporate her magic into her own.

"And now?"

"I'm dead," Aliana murmured, shrugging. "You brought me here. You dreamt me. You need me for something."

Azkadellia turned away from Aliana's intent gaze. Yes, perhaps she had needed Aliana more than she had wanted to admit. Maybe it was time to confess the need, to ask her for help. Maybe they didn't need to be as separate as she had tried to make it seem.

"Cliara is up north." Azkadellia fell silent, almost afraid. "I don't know how to defeat her."

"She's been alone a very long time," Aliana whispered, leaning down and resting her head on Azkadellia's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around Azkadellia and sighed. "So have I. The fifteen annuals with you were different. Difficult to describe. I wasn't alone, either. I did need you. I did love you, after a fashion, as much as I knew how by then."

Azkadellia sighed and dropped her head down to rest over Aliana's. "Was I awful to be with?"

"You were a child," Aliana laughed. "And I was an old, old woman. Things are different. I didn't want to deal with a child. I didn't want to coddle you or make you love me, I didn't want to have to argue. So you feared me. So the world feared me. These are the ways of very old, very angry women. I preferred the fear than the pity, and the obeisance than the sharing. It could have been very different."

"Cliara is alone."

"I had my friends. Water and animals go together very well. Ice goes together with very few animals, and she had none." Aliana sounded very sad and mournful. "She's been alone for so long. I don't think she could understand what this is like. I don't think she remembers me like this. _I_ didn't remember me like this," she added. "Why do you?"

Azkadellia stroked Aliana's hair gently. "Someone should. I would have wanted to."

"You are very much Delia," Aliana murmured, tightening her grip on Azkadellia. "You are an older sister, a caretaker, an advisor. You've seen the darkness and have been shown the light. You carried the emerald and now are on the cusp of a greater duty."

Azkadellia froze at the words. "What did you say?"

"Who do you think made the prophecy? Our dear cousin decreed we would be free of our torment only when such conditions were met. They really had nothing to do with you."

She wanted to cry and scream and laugh at once. All those annuals she tortured herself with the prophecy, the damned words that led her to kill her sister, to take on the darkness like a second skin, and it had all been a lie.

"Oh, Delia," Aliara murmured. "It's all right. This is the way it had to be. This is the only way that we could all be free."

_But we aren't, are we?_ Azkadellia wanted to ask. Only, her mouth didn't move and Aliana was gone, a wisp of smoke in her arms instead.

Azkadellia turned, twisting on the coverlet. She wasn't in the cavern, and she could feel the bed dip and sway somewhat beneath her. Her eyes opened, but she couldn't really contemplate what she saw. The half light of the North had fallen even dimmer as she had slept, and it was hard to see. Still, she wasn't alone in the room. Azkadellia reached out and collided with a body, skin clammy and cool. It was as if the body was only just thawing out, as if the snows had tried to claim it and it had only just escaped. She opened her eyes further and saw the shadows coalesce into Della. "Paul!"

He placed a hand over her chest, keeping her from rising. "Sleep first, Delia," he murmured, exhausted. "I've only just found you."

_Yes,_ her heart sang. _And I've only found myself._

When next she woke, Della was sprawled halfway on top of her. He snored softly, mouth open in his sleep. He was never so unguarded, never so drawn into his rest. He had been half alert the entire time they had traveled on the forest road, body coiled and ready to spring if need be. She had seen him in action, had seen the golem rise beneath his skin to fend off those who would question his integrity. Still, she wasn't frightened of his golem self any longer. He wasn't there to hurt her, he wasn't under the Witch's command. He wasn't anything dangerous to her. He was the stone wall between her and the outside world, the one to keep the Longcoat fighters from her, to keep the peasants from screaming for her head on a pike or her body swinging from the gates of Central City. Stone didn't have to hurt, didn't have to batter. Stone could protect, could decorate, could shelter.

Azkadellia stroked his head and neck gently, almost reverently. He covered her in his sleep, had given himself over to her protection completely. She didn't think he even know how much of himself he had bound to her, however inadvertently. It was an awesome power, to hold someone's heart in her hands, to feel his soul pulse without drawing it in. Even worse, it was freely given.

Aliana had never known this. Cliara certainly hadn't.

She closed her eyes and began to sing softly. It was an old lullaby, supposedly handed down from the time of Dorothy Gale herself. "Two little princesses spinning fast and free..."

Della stirred as she repeated the lullaby on the third time. His eyes opened slowly, his hands clutching the coverlet on either side of her. "Delia," he murmured, voice rough with sleep, tendrils of dreams still clinging to him. "I almost didn't think I'd make it."

"I knew you would," Azkadellia replied gently, hands cradling his head. "You would never let yourself do anything else."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. "Just so tired, still."

"Where's Benji?" she asked, looking around. There was only the two of them in her childhood bed, and she couldn't feel any other signs of life nearby.

"We split up," he murmured against her neck. He pulled back when she would have asked him why and met her gaze. "It was safest that way, so we wouldn't be followed here to you. We couldn't allow them to take you."

"He'll be here," she said, convinced. Her gaze raked across his face, taking in the cuts and scratches. "What happened?"

"Fighting," he replied, fully awake. He sat up, and Azkadellia rose to her elbows. He shrugged but winced at the movement, stiff and sore everywhere.

"You got hurt. Was it bad?" Azkadellia asked, concerned. She made him lie down, even as he shook his head, and she undid the buttons to his shirt. Livid bruises stood out against the dark skin, and matted blood dried onto his uniform coincided with various shallow stab wounds and cuts. "Oh, Paul..."

"I've suffered worse," he told her, fingering the loose folds of her dress. "This is nothing."

"I can heal you. I think." She placed her hands on his chest, willing the magic to rise up and flow through her fingers. While it did so, she didn't know enough about healing to be truly effective. "I can do this again," she insisted, looking at Paul's bruises. The cuts were closed, the stab wounds sealed. The bruises refused to go away, the clotted blood beneath his skin refused to dissolve. _This is because of me. He's hurt because of me._

Della caught her wrists in his hands. "I'm fine, Delia. It's all right. I'm with you." His thumbs stroked the insides of her wrists. "I'm with you."

Her eyes watered as she nodded. How close a thing had it been? How horrible was the trek that he had to endure because she hadn't thought to really evaluate what she knew? How much more would he and Callan have to bear because she simply didn't think?

"Delia," he murmured, rising to a sitting position. "This is what I do. This is what I am."

Azkadellia met his gaze and cupped his face in her hands. "I don't want to think of how it might be if you couldn't come back," she whispered brokenly. She couldn't even say the word _dead,_ couldn't even wrap her mind around the concept.

He kissed her, one hand sliding through her hair to cup the back of her head. The other slid down across the front of her body, palming her breast. She was wearing nothing other than the dress, and the heat of his hand went through the thin fabric. She moaned, leaning into the kiss, her own arms sliding to loop around his shoulders. "I'll always come back to you," he told her, kissing his way along her jaw. "I'll always be here. You'll always have me with you."

He drew the dress over her head, tossing it aside. He kissed his way down her throat to the valley between her breasts, his hands holding her steady as she arched against him. Somewhere along the way, his shirt was removed, and Azkadellia ran her hands along the planes of his back. Firm muscle flexed and rolled beneath her fingertips, and he felt hale and whole. She gasped as he took a nipple into his mouth, rolling it along his tongue.

Della gently laid Azkadellia down on the bed and kissed his way down to the juncture of her thighs. He kissed the top of the mound, hearing her sharp intake of breath. He slipped a finger inside of her as he found her clit with his tongue. He thrust his finger inside of her as he licked her clit, hearing her moan. She writhed beneath his mouth, clutching at the coverlet as she twisted beneath his mouth. She brought her hands to her mouth, stifling her cries as he brought her to the brink of an orgasm. Della could feel her begin to tighten around his finger, could hear her breath come in short pants and gasps. He crooked his finger inside of her as he sucked hard on her clit, and she nearly leapt from the bed, keening from the intensity of the pleasure shooting through her. Azkadellia lay back, gasping, and still Paul licked her clit and moved his finger inside of her. She writhed beneath his mouth, keening when she came again.

He slid his finger out of her and licked her damp slit. Dragging his wet finger over her sensitive clit, he pushed his tongue inside of her. Azkadellia whimpered, reaching for him. "Paul," she moaned, hands clenching and unclenching around the coverlet. Della took his time in tasting her, in kissing her fevered skin. He closed his eyes and leaned into her, kissing her so intimately. It was what he had dreamed of doing when trudging through the snow drifts. He thought he would freeze to death, but couldn't. He had to get back to her. He had to kiss her again. He had to touch her again. He had to taste her again.

He moved agonizingly slowly, pushing his finger back inside her and touching her clit with the flat of his tongue. He hummed softly against her, sliding his finger in and out of her slick folds. She whimpered, writhing beneath his mouth, gasping for breath. He had dreamed of the sound of her, of how she looked when she came. Even more so, he had dreamed of how she felt around him, and he needed it now. He stopped abruptly and shifted position.

Della knelt between her spread legs as she caught her breath. Azkadellia reached for him as he sank inside of her with a contented sigh. He grasped her hips and she ran her hands across his chest as he moved inside of her, thrusting deeply. Azkadellia arched her back and tilted her hips to give him better access, to help him thrust even more deeply. She panted, eyes shut as she reveled in the feel of him inside of her. He was alive, alive, so very alive. She came, pulsing around him, hearing him grunt to keep from coming just yet.

He slid a hand from her hip up along the side of her body. He cupped a breast and thumbed her nipple. "Paul," she whimpered, arching into his touch. Her hands grasped him close, pulling him down on top of her. "Paul... I need..."

He kissed her then, tongue sliding into her open mouth. She met his tongue with hers, arms sliding around him. He thrust deeply inside of her, rocking against her, shutting his eyes tight as he fought to keep from spilling into her right then and there. He groaned as she tightened around him again, as her fingers dug into his back. She gasped, breaking the kiss as she threw her head back. She groaned, eyes falling shut, entire body tightening as she approached another peak. She moaned with every thrust, her cries rising in pitch until finally she came again. This time, Della let go of his control, following her.

Azkadellia held him as they struggled to catch their breath. She made a soft contented noise as she pressed her face against the side of his neck. "I love you," she whispered, eyes falling shut. She hadn't ever said the words before, and he stilled.

She could feel him lick his lips, as if preparing to say something difficult. _I know,_ he might say. He wouldn't deny it, wouldn't deny his own feelings for her when they were too obvious. But while stone was protective, stone didn't profess feelings.

"I love you, too, Delia," he murmured after a moment.

Azkadellia couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't sound like it's a horrible thing to say."

"I'm not saying it again," Della replied, taking on a surly tone in a mocking way. "Don't expect me to. And especially not if we're not alone."

"I won't." Azkadellia pressed a kiss to his pulse point. "I didn't expect you to say it. I just never told you before."

He wound his hands through her hair and kissed her. "I knew," he told her, voice gentle. "I'll be careful with you," he added, stroking her cheek gently.

Azkadellia nodded and leaned into his touch. "I know. I trust you with everything."

Della nodded. "All right. When I get my strength up, I'll go searching the castle for anything we could use. I left the fool to bring the transport and northern garb for you, but I should check to see if there's anything here."

_Just in case_ went unspoken. Neither wanted to say the words.

Azkadellia closed her eyes and leaned into Della's warmth. _Just come back to me, Benji,_ she thought, tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. _We both need you._

She prayed he would be all right, even though she didn't know who she was praying to. Someone had to be listening, and hopefully someone would care.

***  
***


	19. Weaving Memories

Ozma easily grew bored, even if her knight was attentive and agreeing with her in all the right places in her story. It was nice to have someone tell her that she was pretty, her stories were smart and she was a lovely girl. Still, it grew hollow after a time, and there was this odd kind of emptiness inside of her. As if she wasn't real, which was silly, wasn't it? She was a real girl, and even if she didn't have magic, she still had feelings and heart and mind. She had all the makings of a girl, all the knowledge of a princess that had once ruled a kingdom.

But sometimes that kind of knowledge slipped through her fingers, and everything went dim for a time. And she couldn't remember why. She should be bothered by that, by the way her own memories didn't seem to stick together properly, the way she wanted to ask DG about Dorothy even as the girl asked _her_ about Dorothy.

The feeling slipped through her fingers again. She turned and looked at Bruce, a smile on her face. He beamed at her, extending his arm. She took it regally, every inch a princess even if she had no kingdom to rule.

"I think we should check on Dorothy."

Dorothy had ruby slippers, silver shoes, silver belt, emeralds as friends. Dorothy had a tin man and a scarecrow and a cowardly lion that learned to be brave. Dorothy had wound Tik Tok and made Jack come back to life, had made a couch and moose head a flying creature. Dorothy had traveled the entire world of Oz and still came back for her, still helped her rule. They had set down the laws of the land, the two of them.

Something happened, something her mind couldn't quite latch onto, and then again the moment passed in a blur.

"My lady," Bruce was saying, indicating the dilapidated house. "She went in there with Princess Ine'che," he said. "Do you really want to follow them in there?"

"Well, they are princesses," Ozma returned, her smile frozen in place. Something about the house seemed odd, something crawling along her spine that seemed _wrong,_ even more so than everything else around her that slipped in and out of her focus. "They wouldn't go anywhere they shouldn't be, I don't think."

"I am charged with keeping you safe as your knight," Bruce told her solemnly.

_I'm a farmer from Homespun Valley!_ she vaguely remembered, though the context seemed to be gone again as soon as she remembered it. Homespun Valley was gone, anyway. It had been destroyed in the war between Faerie and Wyvernkind, and all that was left was a smoldering hole in the ground. It would take thousands of years before the magical taint fled the lands and something green might grow. It would take thousands of more years before anything would definitely grow, and more years upon that before anyone could live there and farm the magic-blasted lands.

Ozma smiled at Bruce, forgetting why she had been upset a moment before. Being upset was bad for the constitution, Lurlaine said. That was why Ozma had to be careful on her travels and drink all those potions when she returned to the Dawn Sanctuary. Being upset made things horrible inside, and people have crumbled away to dust for being upset. She had always thought it was lack of magic, but Lurlaine knew best about these things.

They stepped onto the dilapidated porch, and Bruce opened the door for Ozma. She felt as though she was missing something important, more so than usual, and brushed at her face absently. It felt as though her hair had fallen into her eyes, or she had walked through a cobweb, even if nothing was there. She took in Ine'che's drawn expression and DG's frightened one. Cain was standing in the center of the room, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace, not moving or speaking with either princess.

"Is he being silly and mean?" Ozma asked, a lopsided smile on her face. She froze when DG turned to her in disbelief. "What? What did I say?"

DG looked stricken. "I can't believe you sometimes, Ozma," she said, voice harsh. It looked as though she was trying to keep herself in check, to keep from flying into a rage and pounding Ozma's face in with the fists at her sides. Ozma took an uncertain step back, bumping into Bruce's solid presence. He didn't move, however, just looked at the three princesses in the room with a curious expression.

Ozma looked from DG to Ine'che. "But I don't understand..."

"Our knight is not playing a game," Ine'che began heavily. While she didn't seem to approve of Ozma's words either, she didn't seem so ready to turn to violence. Ozma didn't know where she stood with Ine'che – wyverns ate princesses, and wyverns hated faeries, and wyverns were dangerous, though Ine'che seemed so unlike the wyverns of stories. Still, Ozma knew that Ine'che wasn't about to harm her.

"Mister Cain is just standing there all tied up in ribbons. Why don't you just cut them away so we can keep going to Auntie Lurlaine's? I'm sure we're closeby."

Both Ine'che and DG stood stock still. "What did you say?" DG asked, voice faint. Her hands unclenched. Perhaps she hadn't really meant to strike Ozma?

"He's tied up in ribbons like a present. Which is silly, really, because who would take a person as a present? And it's not a holiday. So I really don't know why he'd do such a thing. It's not your birthday, Dorothy. Is it your birthday, Ine'che?"

"No, it isn't, child," Ine'che replied, eyeing her curiously.

Ozma shrugged. "Oh, okay then. It's not mine, either. I don't think." She frowned prettily at them both. "I can't remember my birthday. I'm sure Auntie Lurlaine knows it if I asked. She always gets me presents anyway and lets me travel."

Ozma stopped talking when it was obvious that DG wasn't listening. She frowned less prettily at her, growing annoyed. DG never listened to anything important. Cain was the only one who had, and now he was playing this silly game of tie-me-up. Maybe DG wasn't in on the game, and she was worried about him. She was always worrying about something silly that she didn't need to be, but she never stopped to listen when Ozma tried to explain it to her. Ozma knew that DG was completely convinced that she knew what she was doing, even when she didn't. Still, DG wasn't being mean about it most of the time. She just didn't listen. Ozma used to be the same way, long ago, long before the first Dorothy. She could forgive DG for being young, even if Ine'che was always calling Ozma the child.

"DG..."

"I can't just leave him here, okay?" DG snapped, looking for all the worlds as if she was near tears. "I know we need to go, but I can't leave him here like this."

Ozma couldn't understand it. "But just undo the knots."

"I _can't!"_

"Oh. I didn't get to that lesson, did I?" Ozma sighed. "I'm so sorry, DG. I shouldn't have thought badly of you. Of course you don't know how to do it. Can you see the ribbons, though?" DG sniffled and nodded. Ine'che merely stared at them both, her expression approximating something like horror. Ozma ignored her, as she wasn't saying anything helpful and certainly wasn't teaching DG anything useful. No wonder the poor girl was confused all the time. Ozma smiled at DG gently. "Good. That's the worst part, learning how to see the ribbons properly. Sometimes they don't look like ribbons, after all."

"They look like chains that are bleeding," DG whispered hoarsely, bringing her hands up to her mouth. She looked in pain. Ozma hadn't thought that she was so affected by the apparent suffering of others, but she hadn't been paying attention. Ozma wasn't always such a good princess herself.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bruce complained, confused.

"It's magic things," Ozma declared loftily. Something shifted in the back of her mind, and it felt like a puzzle piece sliding into place. Power did strange things to people, to places, to things. It could corrupt or level entire areas in creation, or it could move the smallest grain of sand just out of sync with the rest of the universe.

_Dorothy got all my magic,_ Ozma thought almost sadly. _She didn't get all of the knowledge that should have gone with it. I wonder how she taught her daughter how to use it when I wasn't there anymore._

Ozma stepped close to Cain, eyes still wide open and unseeing. "He doesn't look quite right."

"Oh, you think so?" DG said sarcastically.

Ozma let it go. DG was in pain. She was suffering, and suffering people didn't think straight and lashed out for no reason. Even princesses could do such a thing. "I'm just trying to help," Ozma said. She seemed to be saying that a lot on their trip.

DG looked contrite, then looked away. "I don't know what to do."

"You need to listen more," Ozma chided. Suddenly her gaze was sharp, her eyes like crystal as she took in DG. _My descendant as much as Dorothy's,_ she thought, feeling protective of the lost princess.

And then the moment passed, and she forgot what else she was about to say. "Oh, Mister Cain," she murmured, cocking her head to the side. "That does make you look like a gift, you silly, silly man. I already have a knight. I guess we should give you to DG. She needs more protecting than I do right now."

DG made a strangled noise deep in her throat, possibly upset at Ozma's pronouncement. She couldn't bring herself to care. Every princess needed a knight to protect her.

Ozma began to hum under her breath as she walked around Cain three time counterclockwise, studying the array of ribbons and knots. She could see why DG had called them chains, why she would think they were sharp and hurtful. DG didn't know how to see them as ribbons, didn't know how to read the knots.

"That song you're humming," DG said, voice faint. It was almost as if she was remembering something vaguely unpleasant. "I know that song."

"My mother sang it to me once, I think. She might've. Sometimes you remember things from before you were born, you know." Ozma looked up at DG, a sad smile on her face. "I don't remember my mother, since she died in birthing me. But I do remember her voice. I think it's always the voices that remain when you lose someone."

"But I know that song, and I never heard it anywhere but in the OZ."

"What song is that?" Ine'che asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

Ozma laughed and clapped her hands like a small child. "Two little princesses dancing in a row, spinning fast and freely on their little toes. Where the light will take you, no one ever knows, two little princesses dancing in a row, where the light will them, no one ever knows..." She laughed again, high and almost shrill. "It was my mother's song to me. It was supposed to be important. Everything she ever said was important, that's what my father told me before I went away."

DG sniffled and turned away. "My mother sang me that song before I was sent away. Before she had to lock up my memories."

Ozma moved to her side and touched her sleeve. "I'm sorry. You said they were gone, too. I forgot. I forget a lot of things. Here, let me show you how to read the ribbons, all right? I still remember how to read the ribbons and knots."

Taking DG's hand, she closed their hands over the thickest band of knots. "Here. We'll start right here, over his heart. This is where most of the knots are. And if you look closely, there's a pattern to the knots. Like when you weave on a loom. Or make a bracelet," she added, giggling. "I haven't made one of those in a long time. I can make you one out of this thread if you like! I always wanted to make a bracelet for a friend. My last friend was Dorothy, and she never did like bracelets."

Something in DG's face shifted. "Yeah. I'd like that. You can make me a friendship bracelet."

"Okay," Ozma chirped gaily. She fingered the knots over Cain's heart. "These are tight. They're really close together, so they won't slip. That's how you know it's the center of the knotwork. There are other anchor points," she added, pointing to Cain's forehead, eyes and chin. "Those aren't the main anchors, though. They'll unravel if you undo the primary knotwork and unweave the threads in there."

"Weaving magic," Ine'che said, sounding shocked.

"Well, sort of," Ozma said uncertainly, looking at the wyvern. "Why?"

"If I can unweave it," DG said, interrupting whatever Ine'che would have said, "then I can weave something else, can't I?" Her gaze never left Cain's frozen features. "I can do something else with those threads?"

"Well, these belong to somebody. I don't know if it's a good idea to weave with someone else's magic thread. It takes away pieces of them. It leaves them in pieces, some hollow thing."

All eyes swung to Ozma, shocked at her matter of fact tone. She shrugged and tugged on the thread. Cain swayed as she did so. "I don't think I should make you a bracelet out of these threads after all. They belong to somebody. This is somebody's weaving, and it would be mean to take it and steal it." She looked over at DG curiously. "You know some people eat it? They're called soul stealers. I don't know why."

DG seemed to choke on air, but shook her head. Ozma shrugged. "I didn't suppose you knew either. You didn't know about thread magic either. But here. This is the crux of the spell. You can read it, too, can't you?"

DG shook her head. "I can't, Ozma."  
Ozma blinked in surprise. "Oh! I forgot that you forgot. Here, let me show you the language of knots. It's a language, did you know that? It's really, really, really old."

DG bit her lip and looked as if she was going to cry. Ozma patted her arm gently. "It's okay, DG. I know how to read it. And it's not as hard as it sounds, okay? I'll teach it to you." She beamed at the other princess. "I always wanted to be a teacher, and your ancestor Dorothy didn't have time for this kind of thing. She was too busy ruling. I guess it's a good thing you were visiting here, right? Then you have time to learn the language of knots and spells."

Ine'che touched both of their arms. "Children. The knight awaits your help."

Ozma laughed, almost like the sound of tinkling bells. "Oh, that's right. Let's start learning this, okay? It's really easy."

Ozma began picking through the knots, reading them aloud as DG looked on helplessly. It was less a language using words and more like a language involving patterns. She walked around Cain's frozen form, picking at the ribbons around him. Some of the symbols woven into the ribbons were glyphs from the ancient languages, and she poked at those symbols. "Here. This is the symbol for life, and here's one for death. They're very similar. I should sketch them out for you. It's an old, old language."

DG nodded. "Yeah. I don't know what those symbols mean."

She traced all the symbols she could find around the tightly woven heart anchor. "So it sums up as anyone who cuts the heart lines first will be able to unravel the spells. If any of the other ribbons are the first ones cut, he will die instantly." Ozma turned to DG's pale face. "So, you had better not mess up."

"Me?!" she squeaked.

"Well, of course. I don't have any magic."

DG reached out and touched the string Ozma had been pointing to. "This one?"

"Uh huh. Now you just unravel the spell, ribbon by ribbon."

"You make it sound so easy," DG muttered, shaking her head. She gently pulled on the ribbon, and it gave way easily. "Oh. There it goes."

"See? That's what happens when you start it off the right way. Now, just keep going and unravel it all. Then Mr. Cain should be back to normal and not wrapped up in pretty red ribbons anymore. Then he can be your knight."

DG muttered something under her breath, then pulled a little faster. The thread caught, and she stilled. "Are you _sure_ I'm pulling the right one?" she asked, voice trembling. She looked up at Cain with a pained expression. He hadn't moved, hadn't seemed to be responding to any of the unraveling DG had done at that point.

"Yes. It's working out really well. Just go slowly."

With a sigh, DG began pulling again.

***

The Northern Outpost was beginning to burn.

The Longcoats had waited for months, watching the tin men of the Northern Outpost. They had gauged the trade routes, the usual manpower rotation and the likely amount of funds and goods that they had in storage. Rumor had it that the Princess Azkadellia was being held a prisoner indefinitely in the gilded prison that was the royal palace, much as she planned to do with her mother. It would certainly be a fitting punishment, if the Queen were as given to revenge and perverse punishments as Azkadellia had been.

"General," one of the Longcoats called out, not entering the lead tent just yet.

"Come in."

The Longcoat camp was a small clearing hacked out in the woods not that far away from the Northern Outpost. They could see the fires along the tower, the blackened lumps that were its men lying in the snow. It had been a camp even before the Sorceress had been overthrown, as they had tried to catch the tin men in the act as Resistance fighters. While the tin men had been much too crafty, the camp had come in handy.

"Officer Cedric Fiat reporting, General," the Longcoat declared as he enetered the lead tent. There were rips and tears in his uniform coat, the bottom hem singed. He had come straight from the attack on the Northern Outpost as commanded.

"Fiat," Zero drawled, lounging in his chair. "What's the report? Do we have the princess or not?"

"The tin men fought us harder than expected. They were also much more heavily armed than projected by the intial observations. We've killed Banker and several of the men in charge, but they still fought and refused to give us the location of the princess or her guards."

"And now the outpost is burning, and the princess is probably still inside of it," Zero said, voice still and angry. His leg fell from the arm of the chair to the floor. "Do you have any idea—?"

"It was searched thoroughly by our men, and there were no signs of the princess," Fiat said quickly. Interrupting Zero would likely earn him a much less harsh sentence than accidentally killing the princess.

Zero smiled thinly, leaning back in his chair. He waved at Fiat negligently. "Go on."

"One of the guest suites did show signs of having been used, but the princess herself was nowhere to be found. She had already been moved from the outpost by the time our men got to its walls."

"Is our mole a double agent?" Zero asked, face set angrily. He had been so close. After months of waiting for an opportunity to try and get the Sorceress back, she had simply shown up practically on his doorstep. To have her slip through his fingers was galling.

"Not likely," Fiat replied, shaking his head. "If he was, he's dead now anyway. He did tell us that she had arrived at the outpost this afternoon but had only two guards with her. They could just as easily used this to throw us off."

Zero had heard of the princess having only two guards as opposed to a full complement. It was likely that the Queen assumed she was harmless now that the Sorceress had been defeated. Zero had seen the Sorceress during his rise to power among the Longcoats, and he had seen her at her cruelest as well as her most vulnerable. Even so, she had never once been completely helpless. She was adept at using people's perceptions of her to her advantage. She had been the Sorceress, exuding power with a simple glance.

The only thing remotely in the area was the Winter Palace.

Zero stood, nodding at Fiat. "Dismissed." Fiat nodded and backed out of the tent.

He remembered how she looked the last time he had seen her, and it had been motivation enough for his escape from prison. He didn't intend on letting Cain know his whereabouts and carry through on any threats. Zero intended on finding Azkadellia and getting her settled back on the throne where she belonged. The Queen had no idea how to rule her kingdom anymore, and had been too weak and ineffective ruler before Azkadellia had taken it from her. The right to rule should have been determined by talent, not heredity. Luckily, Azkadellia was more than able to rule the OZ, and Zero knew he was more than able to carry out her commands and fulfill her every need. He knew what true power looked like, and had every intention on remaining by her side when she ascended to power again.

And if she was suitably grateful, all the better. The princess was a beautiful woman, and Zero had spent too much time imagining how her gratitude might be expressed.

Nights were cold and lonely in the north, and every ruler needed a consort.

The Winter Palace was out of the way, with no guards and no stable trail. The two guards sent with her were likely just for show as far as the Queen was concerned; they mistakenly believed Azkadellia to be weak.

Zero knew better. He knew how beautifully deadly the Sorceress could be, how fatal her punishments could be. He'd tried treading the line, to see how far he could go before her notice turned sinister. He never crossed it, never had her murderous sights set on him. Zero wanted her notice, her gaze settled on him. There were times when it almost seemed as though she looked at him in longing, when she seemed to want more than a general by her side. She would want the Longcoats working with her. They wanted her rule, they wanted her structure. There had to be laws and discipline and order. The Queen didn't know what she was doing, and the lax ruling style would lead to chaos.

Zero dismissed the rest of the advisors in his makeshift court. He wouldn't need them where he was going. It would be easy enough to eliminate two tin men, if they even survived the siege on the Northern Outpost at all.

The flames still licked the sky, and Zero smiled in the darkness.

"I'm coming for you, Sorceress," he murmured, watching the Northern Outpost burn. It didn't matter how difficult it would be to get to the Winter Palace. He would get there and he would find Azkadellia.

And soon enough, she would be Queen once more, and all would be right in the OZ.

***  
***


	20. I Belong To You

Azkadellia sank down into the scented bath she had drawn. Her childhood rooms were quiet and still, and seemed to echo horribly with its silence. Della had gone off in search of whatever he could salvage from the palace. That same _just in case_ hung between them unsaid, but it weighed on them just the same. Neither could imagine a world without Callan, and neither wanted to acknowledge the possibility.

She closed her eyes and just reveled in the feel of the water across her skin. It was warm, almost hot, and smelled like her favorite perfume. She could almost pretend there was nothing to worry about, nothing to fear, nothing to avoid. She could pretend that everything was fine, and she was merely preparing for a ball or for meeting either of her men.

Callan would have laughed to hear himself referred to in that way, and her heart clenched in her chest. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be dead. It didn't matter that Della had seen the smoke on the horizon, the unmistakable mark of fire in the snow. Callan couldn't be dead. He was crafty, and he was the department Ghost. He would have found a way to survive it. He had to have found a way to survive it. Azkadellia didn't want to even think of any other possibility if she didn't have to.

When she felt ready, she stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel as she walked back into her old room.

She collided bodily with Benji Callan, scrapes along his jaw and tattered uniform on his frame.

Azkadellia's eyes widened with joy and she grabbed hold of him almost desperately. "I missed you," she whispered, burying her face against him. She inhaled the scent of him, reveled in the feel of him in her arms. "By the suns, I missed you."

His arms encircled her slowly, and he squeezed gently. "Sorry I couldn't get here any sooner."

Azkadellia pulled back and hit his chest with her fist. "You scared us half to death! We thought you might be hurt. Or dead. Or worse!"

Callan swept her up into his arms and swung her around. "Worse than being separated from you? There's nothing worse than that." He deposited her back on the ground, her back to the wall. "I'm sorry, Delia. I'm so sorry." He grasped her face in his hands. "I was such an idiot. I told you that before. I worried you and I really shouldn't have... I'm an idiot sometimes, and I don't always know when to stop pushing and be stupid. It's why Della calls me idiot or fool, you know. All the time, sometimes, because I really do get that way. So sometimes I need reminders to stop pushing people past where they're comfortable. Feel free to tell me that if I need it. Sometimes I'm just an idiot and I don't realize it..."

Azkadellia placed her fingers over his mouth. "Benji. You're being an idiot. Stop it."

They grinned at each other, and Callan took her fingertips into his mouth as he tugged on the towel wrapped loosely around her. "I like this homecoming," he leered.

Azkadellia kissed him softly, almost reverently, making sure he wouldn't simply vanish. She had to be sure he wasn't a dream. She had to be sure he was real.

Callan let her take the lead in tone. He was dying to ravish her, to throw her onto her bed and make her see stars right away. But by the way she touched him, he knew he had to slow it down a bit more. She was getting over her avoidance of grief, getting over her fear of his death. He could understand that. He very nearly didn't make it.

Callan opened his mouth under hers, deepening the kiss. She slid her tongue into his mouth and let her hands curl around his neck and shoulders. He was taller than she was, and she needed to hang onto him for balance. Azkadellia needed to feel him, needed to be sure he was real and there in the room with her. She didn't put it past herself to have created something in her misery that would pass for Callan but wouldn't be.

He grasped her hips and lifted her up. She squeaked in surprise, breaking the kiss and threw her arms around him to keep from falling. She had never liked losing her balance, and vestiges of the Witch's discomfort for being in the air remained with her. She needed her feet on the ground, not suspended in midair.

Nipping at her earlobe, he laughed. "It'll be easier for you to kiss me if we're the same height, don't you think?" He kissed her throat and the underside of her jaw, then licked her lips. "Unless you want to kiss other places on me. I readily approve either way."

No, that would be Callan. Azkadellia couldn't have imagined someone as irreverent and playfully seductive at once.

She kissed him, tongue sliding into his mouth, her arms tight around his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist. She could almost forget being suspended against the wall, almost. When he moved a hand down to cup her breast and thumb the nipple, Azkadellia felt a shot of pure lust go through her. She moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch as best as she could while up against the wall. Callan broke the kiss first to breathe, and Azkadellia tucked her face against his neck as she panted.

"I think you like this," he whispered, giving her nipple a light pinch. He laughed at her moan, then kissed her neck. "Could I make you come for me just like this? Just by touching this and telling you how much I want you?" He licked her neck and felt her hands tighten around his shoulders. "Oh, Delia, you can't even imagine what you feel like, how much I want you right this second." His fingertips ghosted down from her breast to the juncture of her thighs. His other hand was cupping her rear, giving her balance as she clung to him. He traced her folds, damp from the bath and her growing need. "Oh, yes, you like this." His breath was hot by her ear, and Azkadellia could barely breathe. "Do you want me to tell you what I'll do to you? How much I want to taste you, to put my fingers inside of you and feel you come? Can you feel how much I want you?" he murmured, slipping a finger inside of her. "Can you tell?"

"Benji," Azkadellia whimpered, pressing her face into his shoulder. "Benji, please..."

"Please what, my princess? Please you? Certainly," he told her with a smile, sliding his finger further inside of her. He brought his thumb up to her clit, and she made a small keening noise of pleasure. "Oh, yes. You like this. Is it just my fingers you like? Or other parts of me?" Callan began to move his finger in and out of her, slowly, thumb brushing against her clit as he slid his finger back all the way in. Azkadellia made soft mewling sounds, hands clenched even tighter on his shoulders. He couldn't help but smile as her breath caught, as she tried to curl up and around him as he moved against her. "I think it's other parts you like better, hm?"

Her hands scrabbled across his back as she moaned at his touch. She stuttered over his name, not able to speak as she struggled for breath.

"Ah, Delia," he murmured against her hair. "Do you know what you do to me? How you feel? How you sound?" He crooked his finger inside of her and she made a soft noise of pleasure. "Exquisite, did you know that?" he whispered, closing his eyes. He hadn't even allowed himself to dream of this on the way north. He would have been too distracted to drive the transport and keep an eye out for stray Longcoats, would have lost himself in remembered details.

Azkadellia whimpered softly, feeling him move his fingers inside of her. It was fantastic and too slow at once, and she needed more of him. She couldn't form coherent thoughts enough to say something to that effect, and she knew he was fully aware of that. She held onto him tightly, afraid of falling and needing to get inside his clothes all at once. He smelled of smoke and sweat and desire, and she wanted to take him inside of her and feel everything all at once. The closest she could get to speech was soft mewling sounds, which only made him smile and talk even dirtier.

"I think you like other things more," he whispered against her ear when she tried to push her hips up against his hand. "I think you want me, all of me, right now like this. Don't you? Don't you, Delia? Don't you want me inside of you, pushing all the way in, my mouth on yours and making you come?" He nipped her earlobe when she moaned, shaking with need. She made a noise in protest when he drew his hand all the way out of her to open the front of his pants, but sighed in relief when he sank inside of her to the root. "Delia," he groaned, pushing up into her. "You feel so good," he moaned. He grasped her hips, tilting them slightly as he thrust into her. He nearly growled at the feel of her, at the strangled cries she made as he thrust. "I'll make it up to you," he ground out, feeling her tighten around his cock. She was close to coming, teetering over the edge. "I'll make up for every second you worried about me, every second you were afraid I'd left you."

Azkadellia could feel her entire body tighten, and she shut her eyes as she panted. Close, so close, his voice like warm honey surrounding her. It didn't even matter what he said anymore, just the sound of his voice and his hands on her and his cock inside of her and then she could feel herself unravel in his arms with a guttural cry.

Callan caught her up in his arms and pulled her away from the wall. It was a distance to the bed, and Azkadellia clung to him, afraid of falling. He nearly fell over, but managed to catch his balance and bring her over to the bed. He tumbled down on top it, over Azkadellia, and didn't give her a moment to catch her breath. He was inside of her again, thrusting the full length of himself into her. He palmed her breast with one hand, using the other arm to hold himself up for balance. Azkadellia grasped his arms, arching up off of the bed, incoherently moaning as he kept sliding in and out of her wet heat. He felt so good, pleasure radiating though her entire body. She might have tried to call his name as she writhed, might have tried to tell him that his voice was soft and sinuous, needy and pleasurable all at once. He might have replied to her, might have told her how beautiful she was and wonderful she felt and how much like a living dream she seemed to be. He might have, but then she was coming again, crying out at the flurry of feeling shooting through her.

He kept thrusting into her, kept moving at a steady pace. He leaned down, changing the angle of his thrusts. Azkadellia whimpered, sliding her hands across his back. She scrabbled at his uniform jacket, pushing at it. He took the hint and shrugged it off, then leaned up so he could unbutton the shirt. She helped him, fingers shaking and stumbling across the fabric. Grinning, Callan kept moving inside of her as he pushed the rest of his clothing off. "Like the feel of me, do you?" he grunted, leaning down again. She sighed as she moved over his bare back, muscles working beneath her fingertips. "Like knowing I'm inside you? That I know how to touch you, I know how to make you come?"

Azkadellia whimpered and clawed at his back as she arched up against him. "Ben," she panted, twisting beneath him, his mouth at her throat. "Oh my stars, Ben," she moaned.

Licking her neck on the way to her ear, he grinned. "Tell me how much you want me, Delia," he whispered, breath hot by her ear. "Tell me how you want it, if you want me harder, if you want my hands, if you want my mouth on you." He took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently. He laughed at her incoherent moan. "Tell me," he murmured, then licked the outer shell of her ear. "I've got you, I've got you. I'll make you come a hundred ways if you want me to, if you need me to." He reached down between them and found her clit, still slick and wet. "I'm close, so close, love, but I'll keep going for you." He stroked her clit, and she made a desperate noise, writhing beneath him. "Tell me what you want, Delia," he whispered, thrusting hard as she tightened around him.

"I can't," she panted, eyes falling shut as she reveled in the feel of him. "Can't hold on..."

"Come for me," he whispered, working her clit harder. She mewled in reply, nails digging into his shoulder desperately as she approached another orgasm. "I want to hear you," he whispered, licking her ear. "Let me know how much you like it."

And she was coming, moaning and feeling as if she was exploding.

Her body worked his cock hard, and Callan grit his teeth to keep from coming right there. "Delia?" he murmured. "I can't last much longer. You have to tell me if you want more..."

She pulled him closer, unable to form coherent words. He kept thrusting into her, fingers still at her clit. She whimpered, hands moving down his back to cup his buttocks. "Benji," she whimpered, arching up against him. "Too much," she panted. "Almost too much..."

He grinned and kept up the tempo. "Just like this? With me inside you and my fingers on you?" She groaned, twisting beneath him, hands clenching tight. "So sensitive, aren't you? Just a light touch on your clit..." He stroked gently, and Azkadellia made a keening sound again. She licked her lips, mouth dry from panting. "Can you come for me again? Pull me down with you? I want to feel you around me, I want you to pull it out of me, make me come with you, make me feel it like you do..."

Azkadellia gave another small cry as she came. This time, Callan let go and came as well. He tensed, feeling his cock pulse inside of her as she milked him. He gently lowered himself down on top of her, panting. She circled him with her arms and pressed her face against his neck as she struggled to catch her breath.

"I think I got you all messy again," he murmured, fingering her hair, strewn beneath them. She laughed, not caring one bit. "Maybe I'll bathe with you? Mm? That sound good?"

"Don't know if I could survive it," Azkadellia breathed, laughing.

"I'll protect you," Callan replied, grinning. "I'll be a perfect gentleman, taking time to soap you up and wash every inch of you. I'd like that," he murmured, nipping the tip of her nose. "I'll make sure you're squeaky clean when I'm done."

"Sounds awfully fun."

"Oh, it will be," he promised, kissing her throat. "I meant it. I'll make up for every bit of time you worried about me." He picked his head up. "But where is that Della? He got a head start, didn't he? You said you both worried?"

Azkadellia took his face between her hands. "Idiot. Of course we did. Didn't want to think of how we'd be without you." She traced the edge of his lips with her thumb. "He went exploring to see if he could find anything useful in the castle before we head north."

"Useful? In this maze of a place? It would take a lifetime to wander through it."

"He knows the way now," she replied.

"How? I know he can track anything, but even going through an unknown maze of a palace is a stretch of his skills."

"I cast a spell on him," she murmured, looking almost anxious about it. "It's a modified form of the obedience spell," she began quickly. She looked up at him, concerned that he would think badly of her for casting anything on either of them. "I took out the obedience part," she explained, not letting him speak just yet. "It just has the locator part left. So he could find me anywhere, anytime he likes. I wouldn't do anything worse than that. I wouldn't want to..."

Callan covered her mouth with his fingertips. "I trust you. I'm sure he does, too."

"I don't want you think I'm the Sorceress," she murmured, rolling over so that she straddled him. "I don't want you to think badly of me."

He rested his hands on her hips and smiled. "I don't think I ever could." He ran his hand along the curve of her hip, thumb resting on the hipbone. "Things happen, Delia. Maybe we aren't always proud of them, but it helps make us who we are. We're all grown ups. We can deal with that, okay? Don't feel like you have to apologize to _me."_

"Just everyone else?" she asked, voice soft. "Just to the entire country?"

His grip tightened on her hips, almost painfully. "Never. They'll understand. The announcement's even reached the Northern Outpost. As much as they're looking for a fight, as they might hate you, it still doesn't make it your fault."

"What if I didn't fight her hard enough?" Azkadellia asked softly. "What if maybe I helped her?"

Callan sighed. "Have you been listening to the rumors, then?" He shifted position and sat up next to her. He took in her guilty expression. "Ah, Delia. I don't even understand how this magic thing goes, let alone the possession. But I for one believe you when you say you tried your hardest to get her to stop. Whatever that means. If it means you went along with some things so she'd stop hurting you, or if you did try to lock her in your head, whatever. People are complicated things. Motives aren't always clear. Of anyone, Della and I would understand. We're homicide detectives. Hate and love get so tangled up sometimes." He trailed his fingers along her face. "Sometimes they're almost the same thing."

Azkadellia's lip trembled as she nodded. "Sometimes I didn't hate her."

Della had found it curious when he had sat still for her spell. "You learned a lot from her," he observed. "You said you knew everything she did?" At her nod, he had continued. "Do you miss her, then?"

She had been too ashamed to reply yes, but he seemed to understand that anyway. He had kissed her forehead and squeezed her hands. "It happens," he murmured. "Just like your children. I understand." He wound a hand in her hair and kissed her mouth, soft and loving and with more understanding than Azkadellia thought she deserved. "You'll be all right, you know," he had said earlier that morning. _"We'll_ be all right. You'll understand it better with time."

She hadn't been so sure then, and still wasn't sure now. All the lives she had taken fluttered in the back of her head, ghosts she had to live with. How could they understand when she didn't?

Callan wound his arms around her and held her tight. "It's all right, Delia. For the longest time it was just the two of you. Of course you didn't hate her. It was dysfunctional, but it seemed to work."

"I don't want to remember her," Azkadellia protested, pulling away from him. "But lately, it's all I think about." She ran a hand through her hair, then examined the strands tangled in her fingers. She selected one and wound it around Callan's right wrist, as if spooling thread. "All I can do is remember," she whispered.

"Remembering isn't a bad thing if you learn from it," Callan replied, watching her movements closely. "What are you doing?"

"The location spell. Unless you don't want me to?"

He smiled. "No, I do. I want to know where you are. It'll let me know when you're in trouble, right? So I can run right to your side?" His smile grew to a full grin when she nodded. "Well, go on, then. Get to it."

She began the spell, layering it over him, one hand over his heart and the other over his wrist. Callan could feel as if a weight was settling in over him, a press against his mind. As Azkadellia concentrated, he could almost see the hair around his wrist glow. After a moment, he could feel the hair tighten, pulling into his skin. It seemed to grow hot as it did so, burning as it sank down into his bones. He grit his teeth against the pain of it, not wanting to distract her.

The pain vanished as she looked up. He didn't let any discomfort show as she looked at him anxiously. "How do you feel?"

"Fine." There was a vague nagging sensation that he was forgetting something, that he was worried. Callan wanted to fix it, though he didn't know how and didn't know where to start. It only clicked when he saw Azkadellia biting her lip. He wasn't the one worried, it was Azkadellia. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "Stop worrying so much, Delia. I'm fine. I feel great. I just know what you're feeling now, too."

She relaxed in his arms. "Okay. So it worked."

"Did you really think it wouldn't?"

She smiled sheepishly. "No, but I can't help it. I don't want anything bad happening..."

"I love you, too," Callan said, kissing her. "Stop worrying. How about we take that bath now? Then you can relax a bit, I'll go see what's taking Della so long and we can head north."

Azkadellia smiled and kissed his palm. "Sounds like a good idea."

 

***  
***


	21. Never Is A Promise

Cain awoke to a sea of anxious faces hovering over him. He glowered at them all, though he lessened it when he saw DG's stricken expression. "What are you doing here? Don't we have to get to this Dawn Sanctuary?"

"But Mr. Cain," Ozma replied, affronted. "You were so ill. The ribbons were tied too tight around you."

That didn't make any sense. He sat up and shook his head to clear it. He looked at DG, who had a handful of red ribbon in her lap. She kept running it through her fingers, pulling at the ribbon. He looked at her expression, at the hurt in it.

And then he remembered nearly choking her to death.

DG could tell when he remembered the night in the forest. Cain stiffened and looked as though he wanted to shut down and turn away. "There was a very nasty thread magic spell placed on you," she said hastily, lifting the red ribbons in her hands. "We had to undo it, or you would have been trapped here forever."

Cain reached out and tugged on the ribbons in her hands. It seemed as if a spool of bright red ribbon had been pulled out and bunched together. It was intricately woven, with little frilly edges that likely made it more difficult to unknot. He frowned at the others and tugged at sections of the ribbon. "I don't remember this."

"Dorothy made the ribbons real like this when she pulled them off. But you need magic sight when it's still a spell thread." Ozma smiled at Cain and tugged at the thread herself. "Isn't it pretty? It was done up in so many different knots and such, and anchored in six different places. Six." She huffed a bit. "Can you believe it? Six. I don't remember any spells being so difficult before. But it's been thousands and thousands of years since I've last done any kind of magic, so maybe there used to be."

"What does that mean?" Cain asked, looking between the three women. There was no use looking at Bruce; he was next to useless even if Ozma seemed to think he was a perfect gentleman. Sometimes being a knight meant that politeness had to be brushed aside. He was her idea of a knight, all chivalry, bowing and etiquette. Sometimes etiquette needed to be breached, and no one was polite in battle. That was something that Ozma didn't seem to understand. War wasn't pretty.

"Somehow, someone that knows very old magic got a hold of you," DG began, hands trembling ever so slightly. She began toying with the ribbons just to keep them occupied. "Thread magic. Like this stuff. So it was worked into you over a long period of time. It was supposed to corrupt you, make you do things you would _never_ do. Make you hurt all of us, to keep us from getting there."

He thought of the way her throat felt under his hands, nails digging into them. He thought of her expression, the disbelief and pain.

Cain had been a bastard, even if magic was to blame.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, taking her hands in his. "I'm so sorry."

"You couldn't help it, Mr. Cain," Ozma replied, patting his arm despite her feelings about touching commoners. "Whoever this was is very powerful, very old and very mean. Riverfel chains are nearly indestructible, and they are very dark things. They've been forbidden from the Dawn. You have to have almost pure light unweave it if it's bound to you."

Ine'che laid a hand onto DG's shoulder. "This one was definitely born of light. You can see it in her patterns."

Ozma blinked. "I thought it was obvious. The younger girls in the Gale line are like Dorothy, and the older ones like her sister Delia."

"What was that?" DG whispered, not sure she heard correctly.

"Dorothy wanted a little girl," Ozma replied with a shrug. "She said she wanted to have a daughter and name her after her sister."

"I never knew she had a sister. None of the stories tell of one."

"Delia died a long time before she came to Oz, a long time. Dorothy didn't like to talk about it." Ozma shrugged. "She only mentioned it because she asked me if there was a way to ensure she had at least one daughter."

"What happened?" DG asked, seeing Cain straighten up now that the focus was shifted from him for a bit.

"Well, I assured her that she could have whatever she wanted. And the first daughter would be like Delia. And just to be fair, the second daughter would be just like her." Ozma smiled brightly. "I thought that was fair."

"And just like that, the course of the Gale line shifted," Ine'che murmured, shaking her head. "I never thought..."

DG turned to face Ine'che. "You know about the OZ?"

"It's easy enough to pass between worlds if you know the way. Is that where you planned to go?"

"Yes," Cain replied. "DG needs to return to Central City as soon as possible."

"Well, I need to go home," Ozma added, cutting off DG's reply. "And Auntie Lurlaine will help them go back to their home. I told them so."

Ine'che nodded slowly. "Any favor comes with a price, little one."

Ozma patted Ine'che's arm and stood. "Oh, go on. My Auntie will help them if I ask. She's very sweet and helpful, for all that she's a Queen. She's kept the peace for thousands and thousands and thousands of years."

"The price of peace can sometimes be too high."

"Auntie knows best," Ozma told her, looking as though she was parroting someone. She smiled vacantly and then moved to Bruce's side. "We will go on to Auntie as soon as Mr. Cain feels better. We'll be all right, and we'll be at Dawn and safe and happy and it's going to be all right."

DG grasped Cain's hands tightly, squeezing until he looked at her. "We'll get through this. For better or for worse."

If anything, he blanched. He turned away and found himself looking eye to eye with Midnight. The mobat clambered up onto his chest and curled into his arms, as if giving him a hug. Cain awkwardly patted the mobat, who purred and swished his tail happily.

"He missed you."

"I wasn't gone long," Cain protested, not quite able to meet DG's eyes.

"Almost two days," DG corrected with a sad smile. "The one with the spell and then a day of recovery." She bundled as much of the red ribbon as she could in her fist. "I still haven't figured out what to do with this. I'm so tempted to fuck up the bitch that did this to you."

Cain faced her and folded his hands over hers. Midnight shifted so that he was clinging to Cain's back and could look between the two of them. "Don't do that. It's not worth that effort." _I'm not worth that effort,_ he meant, and they both knew it.

"You are," DG whispered fiercely. "And if I just knew what I would do, then I can stop feeling weird around you."

_"You_ feeling weird?" he echoed, stunned. The worry he had about her solidified in his gut. He hadn't realized he had traumatized her so badly...

"Well, you hate it if I do something stupid. And I _really_ want to do something stupid. Really stupid. And possibly dangerous. And did I mention stupid? Because it probably is."

Cain couldn't suppress a grin at DG. She always managed to find a way to make him smile, even if she didn't mean to. "Why? What are you planning in that devious mind of yours?"

DG gave him a feral smile. "Ozma said messing with someone else's magic thread can do bad things to them. And I intend to use these ribbons I've got right here. I just need to think of something nasty enough. Somehow I don't think that ripping them into little bits is bad enough. Shredding someone's magic is a waste."

"Azkadellia used to kill people with magic."

She shook her head. "I don't want to kill anyone. And that whole sucking their soul out of their mouth thing was creepy."

Ine'che's gaze sharpened. "Your sister ate souls?"

"Just a few," DG admitted sheepishly. "It wasn't her fault. She was possessed by an evil witch when it happened."

Ine'che turned away. "I'm not sure I would like this world of yours."

"Az is different now. The witch was taken out of her, and she's dead now. And it was my fault she even was possessed in the first place. If I had stayed, she wouldn't have been overwhelmed by the witch. It was all my fault... First for hearing the witch calling out from the cave in Fenaqua, then for running away and leaving Az behind. So don't hate my sister for my mistake."

Cain had grasped hold of DG's shoulder as she spoke, giving her his support. He didn't think very much of himself right then, but he knew that she blamed herself for the incident. If only she had noticed something was wrong, she could have undone it somehow. If only she had been strong enough to fight him off. If only...

"Fenaqua, you said," Ine'che murmured, surprised. "Water prison?" Her voice trailed off as if she had just realized something, then she clamped her mouth shut.

"It's the old name for the place," DG told her, concerned. "The lake is beautiful, and there was a summer palace there. What is it? Why does that mean something to you?"

"I told you before," Ine'che murmured. "I am very old, and my memory is very long. But I'm not sure what I'm thinking is even true."

"What do you _suspect?"_ Cain asked seriously. He dimly remembered asking the same thing of Azkadellia. It felt like so long ago. "It might sound odd, but after everything else that's happened to us, I would believe you."

"The royal family used to be much larger," Ine'che intoned, eyes flicking toward Ozma. The blonde princess had long since ignored them, and was letting Bruce dazzle her with sleight of hand tricks. "Her aunt did not like competition, and liked being questioned even less. She exiled her own blood in an effort to keep her precious peace and maintain control of this place. One could manipulate water."

DG paled and looked between Cain and Ine'che. "We have to get to the Dawn Sanctuary."

"That isn't the only way to your realm. Soft places sometimes can link to other soft places, though it isn't a guarantee of meeting your world."

"So we're headed to the Dawn Sanctuary," DG replied with a sigh.

"Will the Queen harm us?" Cain asked, voice low and concerned. Midnight frowned at him, and nuzzled closer as if he could cheer up the tin man by sheer force of will.

"Not with the child around," Ine'che replied, watching Cain absently stroke the mobat. She smiled, amused. His gruff exterior was rather transparent at times. She nodded at them and stood. "We should rest for a time," she said. "You are still somewhat weakened from the spell." She turned to DG and glowered at her. "You are _not_ to do anything foolish. Royal servants can still be avenged."

Ine'che took Ozma and Bruce outside, saying something about finding firewood and whatever natural food the forest could offer.

"I'm surprised she left me alone with you after what happened," Cain began in a low tone.

"We're not alone," DG replied, wadding up the red ribbon to shove into her jeans pocket. She smiled at him and indicated Midnight. "See? We're not alone. He's here to chaperone us."

"Somehow I don't think he counts as a chaperone," Cain sighed.

DG took Cain's face in her hands. "Are we back to the beginning, then? Where you think you're awful for me and not good enough?"

"I _strangled_ you! I nearly killed you!" Cain raged, jumping to his feet. Startled, Midnight leapt from his back and took to flying in circles above them, confused. "How can you possibly think I can forget that?"

"I don't," DG told him simply, voice soft. "But I know it wasn't you. I knew something had to have happened. And I want to get past it. Don't you get it? I want this to be over. I want it behind us, however we can get it there."

Midnight settled onto DG's shoulder and pulled at her hair gently. She sighed and detached the mobat from her shoulder, then let it curl over the front of her torso. "See? Not exactly conducive to sex, okay?" she told Cain. She frowned at him. "You told me everything wasn't my fault. What does it take to get you to think the same thing?"

Cain shook his head. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my time, but strangling the one I love has never been one of them."

DG smiled softly and sat down next to him. She bumped shoulders with him playfully. "So you admit you love me, then?"

"I did a long time ago," Cain replied with a sigh. "But that doesn't solve anything, you know."

She leaned her head down on his shoulder. "I know." Midnight made a snuffling noise and crawled over DG's chest to perch on her shoulder. DG turned her head slightly to look at Cain. "But it means we can start again. It means this doesn't have to be over."

Cain took her hand in his and squeezed tightly. "I don't want this to be over, either. I just don't know how to start again."

DG smiled, lip quirked in amusement. "Shall I put a spell on you, then?"

He pulled back in horror. "No!"

She laughed. "I wouldn't. Just wanted to see your reaction."

"That's not something to joke about!"

"If we can't laugh about this, about whatever else goes wrong, this won't work," DG murmured softly. "My robot parents told me that once," she said, smiling even though it was evident she was about to cry.

Cain sighed and took her face in his hands. "I'm sorry, DG. I'm so sorry. I have all these good intentions for you, and one by one they all fall apart."

"It's a sign," DG said wryly. "Stop having any intentions toward me."

He looked at her, startled, then began to laugh. "I probably should. And no promises either, or I'd have to break them."

"I only want one promise from you. No, two."

Cain waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. DG merely sat there, looking smug. "Okay, what are those two promises?"

"One, you have to promise to love me..."

"I already do," Cain muttered, shaking his head.

"And two," DG continued as if she hadn't been interrupted, "is to always be faithful. That's it."

"I can do that," he began slowly. "Barring any spells put on me. I didn't expect to hurt you." He paused. "I notice you didn't ask me to promise not to hurt you."

DG's smile was bittersweet. "I don't want you to break any promises, and you're too noble sometimes. You might do something in my best interest, or what you _think_ is in my best interest, and I could be hurt." She shrugged and attempted to look nonchalant. "I'm not stupid. I don't think you'd ever willingly hurt me, but things happen. I could get my feelings hurt. But they'd be even more hurt if you left me."

Her quiet admissions shook Cain to the core. For all of her youth and inexperience, she was able to be brave enough to lay herself bare to him. He resisted doing just that, hiding behind duty and expectations. With a sigh, Cain took up her hand again. "I try to be noble and to follow the rules to be a good tin man. Sometimes I can't. I should let you go. I should _make_ you go. But I can't. I can't make myself do that, to have you walk out of my life anymore. I still think it's a mistake, and that after what happened here I should. I don't know how this will work. I don't know what to do about us."

DG sighed and squeezed his hand back. "Simple solution, then. Stop thinking."

Cain turned to look at her, intending to protest. She took the opportunity to kiss him. It was a simple kiss that told him of her longing and hope, her undying love and faith in him. When the kiss ended, he sighed and touched his forehead to hers. "I can try."

She smiled, and he could feel his heart clench in his chest. "I can work with that."

***

_missing pieces, was seen, was seen _

missing pieces, missing parts, losing track of the original plan

my lady will be angry with me, tear the rest to pieces, tear everything else and remove all evidence as she's done before and will do again if she's ever crossed

cannot go back, cannot return, not in pieces, not with holes, not with the misson undone

cannot return, cannot go back for fear of my lady, unraveled, in pieces, my lady will be angry if she sees what's left of me, what was left undone

will latch to the girl, will take back whatever is left

cannot fail again

***   
***


	22. Intimidation

The palace was as large as Zero remembered it to be. He strode past the tall parallel columns, ignoring the craftsmanship as he had the last time he had been to the Winter Palace. It didn't matter how elegant or opulent the palace was; Azkadellia was royalty, so it _should_ have been that way. Even in exile, Azkadellia deserved the best. It was only fitting that her punishment would be in the Winter Palace. As the Sorceress, she had once made mention of killing DG there, and Zero had seen the contentment in her eyes when DG had been captured there. It was only fitting to keep her somewhere she felt comfortable, even if the sad excuse of a Queen thought of it as punishment.

He paused at the end of the Great Hall, remembering the last time he had been to the Winter Palace. He supposed that Azkadellia would head straight to the royal living quarters for her exile. The two guards that had been mentioned were likely about in the palace, but he hadn't seen them anywhere near the entrace. Whatever remained of the Northern Outpost expedition uniforms had been casually tossed aside, and the guard wearing the uniform was nowhere to be seen. Unless Azkadellia had invented some way to get rid of the body that left clothes behind, Zero doubted that Azkadellia had killed them. Her chosen mode of death was fairly neat and efficient, but always made work for someone else to clean up. He had always happily disposed of the bodies she left behind. It was one of the benefits to his position as one of her generals.   
Zero would start in the living quarters. Even if she wasn't there, he would likely be able to find some sign of the Queen's plans for her. Once he knew that, it would be easy enough to subvert it and reinstall Azkadellia on the throne as Queen. Everything else would fall into place when she made him her Advisor as thanks for remaining loyal. She would see that he was worthy of her, and everything would fall into place.   
He would make sure of it.

***

Azkadellia sat her old vanity table in front of the mirror. She was in an emerald green dress and golden underbust corset, brushing out her long hair with methodical strokes. Callan had assured her that he knew how to find Della in the palace, and that they would start the journey further north once they returned. She was anticipating it and dreading it all at once. Maybe when it was all over, she could find a measure of peace. Maybe she could insist that Callan and Della stay with her afterward. She felt a chill roll through her at the thought that the Queen would deny her the request. What would she do then? How could she feel whole without the other parts of herself with her?

She kept her thoughts under tight control. Now that she was tied to Callan and Della, they could feel any riotous emotions and would worry about her. They would know if she was anxious or afraid and automatically think the worst. But what could happen? The Winter Palace was so remote now, and no one came there if they didn't have to. Even the royal family had written off the palace after DG's death and her curse.

"You are as beautiful as ever."

Azkadellia froze at the sound of that voice. _No, it can't be._

"I was afraid that maybe deposing you had changed you. That maybe they truly did punish you." Zero slid into view of Azkadellia's mirror. He was smiling at her, reverent, deferential. He was in the same kind of Longcoat uniform he had been wearing the last time she had seen him, when he was fighting in the Sorceress' service. "I am so glad I was wrong," he continued, not caring about her stunned silence. "Everything I endured was worth it, then. You are everything I dreamed you would be."

It was a nightmare. It had to be. This couldn't be happening. He had been locked away, imprisoned as the other Longcoat leaders had been. Cain had promised to finish things, had promised that it would never start again. Cain always liked to be sure of things. Hadn't he gone back to finish the job? Hadn't he made sure?

The Queen had reassigned him, though. Perhaps she had sent him too soon?

Zero's smile sent shivers down Azkadellia's spine. She abruptly stood and faced him, rather than look at him through her mirror. She would not be a coward. She was a princess of the Gale line, and she was a Practitioner. For all that she had been captive in her own body for most of the past fifteen annuals, she was a prisoner no longer. She would not be afraid. She would not.

"What would you have me do, Princess?" he asked, bowing slightly. He looked up and smirked. "Or should I say Queen Azkadellia?"

She blanched. That title would never be hers to bear, and it almost hurt to hear it. "I will not be Queen," she told him steadily. She realized that she still held her hairbrush in a viselike grip, knuckles turning white. She put the brush down, hoping she appeared nonchalant. He wouldn't harm her, would he? He was just a misbegotten servant, his mind gone astray. Surely he wouldn't hurt her, surely.

_But he was known for cruelty. The Sorceress knew that when she chose him. She wanted him to be dark and cruel, to inspire fear and terror in the hearts of the people. She_ wanted _him to be cruel. She needed it that way._

Zero stood, head tilted to the side slightly. "But Princess, you could be. You were ruler of the OZ for a time, and you could be again. You will be a great leader, a wise ruler. I know the people are angry, but they're stupid and easy to break. They'll change their minds with time. They'll realize you're a more effective ruler than the current Queen."

Azkadellia stood tall and straight, as regal as she knew how. "You will not harm her. You will not harm DG."

His smile was slow and sinister, and she could see the pleasure in his eyes. "I understand. You're saving them for yourself. Of course, Princess, of course. I would never interrupt your goals."

She wanted to scream. This wasn't happening. He wasn't here, he wasn't creeping forward as if he had every right to be there, every right to be by her side with that sick smile on his face. Azkadellia wanted to shake, wanted to curl into a small ball and hide under the table. She did neither, but remained where she was. She kept her hands at her sides, free and open, in case she needed to do something to protect herself.

"Isn't it part of your goals?" he asked when she remained silent. "You're the rightful ruler of the OZ. Rulers that can't keep their people safe shouldn't be in charge. Isn't that what you said?"

"What the Sorceress said," Azkadellia snapped, stepping forward and away from the table. She hadn't meant to respond, hadn't meant to draw this out any farther.

He obviously didn't believe her anyway. Zero shook his head. "You're still you," he said, voice soft and sincere. "The Witch might have had the old magic, but you were the driving force. I always knew that. She was too far removed from our time. You held the reins, you always did." He took another step forward, too close for Azkadellia's liking, and she stepped back. "I'm just here to help you however I can."

"How did you find me?" she asked, proud that her voice didn't waver. She stepped back away from him again, not wanting him even within arm's length, and she fetched up against the wall. She couldn't help but think of Callan, of his hands on her as he helped brace her up against the wall as he drove inside of her, as he kissed her. She could feel the low flush to her cheeks and cursed her fair complexion. She didn't want to imply anything to Zero, and he certainly didn't need any more encouragement.

His smile triggered a curling tendril of fear in the pit of her stomach. There was something in his eyes she didn't want to name, something she was reacting badly to. He wanted her, oh yes, but that wasn't quite it. That look he was giving her was more than that. It was more than simple desire, more than worship or devotion. The love he would offer her was nothing she wanted to see, nothing she wanted to take part in. Maybe if she had never known Della and Callan, she would have accepted it as real. Maybe if she didn't know any better, she would have taken what he had to offer and would have been terribly thankful. She would have taken his worship and sinister smiles and thought it was real, thought it was all she could ever expect and all she could ever deserve.

Zero stepped into the space between them and touched her cheek gently. His touch was reverent, as if she was a holy shrine he was afraid to desecrate with his profane touch. His lips parted slightly as he observed her face, taking in the color in her cheeks and the wide eyes. There was that sick sincerity there, that reverence that Azkadellia didn't believe she deserved.

"My Queen," he murmured, caressing her cheek. He was almost on top of her, almost sharing the same breath, almost ready to clutch her close. "I would follow you anywhere. I listened for you, waiting in the woods. I gathered up whatever remained of our men, led them against the pockets of resistance. We can overtake the palace. We can restore you to the throne, and you can rule the OZ as you deserve to do."

"With you?" she guessed, words sticking in her throat. It was terror, she realized suddenly. That frozen, panicking feeling was named terror, and it was that feeling she had lived with for so long that she hadn't realized it was abnormal until her time with the tin men.

He reacted as if she had just told him the sun rose on his say so. His grin was broad and genuine, and his body was pressed flush against hers. She could feel his arousal against her thigh, and his hand cupped her cheek in a lover's caress. His other hand was braced against the wall, just next to her head, and she felt caged. _By the suns, I have to get out of here!_ she thought desperately, afraid he was going to lean in and kiss her on the mouth. She could still feel Callan's lips over hers, still feel Della's tongue in her mouth. She didn't want anyone else, didn't want Zero touching her, didn't want him loving her. She couldn't tolerate it, couldn't stand the feeling of him hovering over her.

"If you wish," he told her, the words more reverent than his tone. It mocked her, that voice. The Sorceress had commanded him, had led him and let him loose to his sadistic pleasures. He assumed that Azkadellia was the same, that she would enjoy the way he toyed with her enemies, the way he was quick to obey the Witch's monstrous will. "I would be honored to be with you," he continued, oblivious to her discomfort. "I will protect you from the impostor on the throne," he promised, his thumb touching her lips. His touch was gentle, but his eyes _burned_ with a passion that didn't seem entirely sane. "I will be whatever you want me to be. I can be your faithful servant."

She opened her mouth to refute him, to say _something_ to make him stop. Zero kissed her then, possessive and dangerous. His tongue slid into her open mouth and his hand curled around her shoulder, keeping her still. The other arm moved to curl around her torso, and he was pulling her flush against him, as if they could share the same skin if he tried hard enough. He poured everything into the kiss, every ounce of his devotion and longing for her. Everything since the eclipse had been in service to her majesty, her dark glory. Everything for her, and she had to know how much he needed her.

Azkadellia broke the kiss, pushing him away. Her heart thudded in her chest and she thought she would throw up. Whatever Della had forced her to conjure and eat that morning was threatening to work its way back up and out of her. She felt tainted, defiled by his intentions. How could she ever face her lovers after this?

"My Queen," Zero murmured, still confident in his ability to be whatever she needed. "You don't have to be confined here. You don't have to be a prisoner just on _her_ say so. We can set you free. Just give me the word, and I will have the Longcoats storming Central City. We've already set the Northern Outpost to burn."

And there it was, between them, his offer that whatever she wanted she could have. Did she want to be Queen again? Did she want to rule again? Did she want that power and control?

But she didn't. She didn't want it.

"I don't think you understand..." she began desperately. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be something she could do to stop him.

He had that sickly smile on his face again, confidence and sadism in the curl of his lip. "My Queen. We can restore your place." He spoke as if she were an imbecile, as if he was speaking in another language. "You don't have to hide anymore."

"I don't want the throne!" Azkadellia snapped. "Stop presuming!"

If anything, Zero's smile grew wider. "I knew you were in there somewhere." He grabbed hold of Azkadellia's arms and pulled her close, laughing as she struggled. "I knew you weren't some simpering thing. You weren't this creature they were trying to make you into." Zero pulled her close, kissing her. It was every bit as passionate as before, but with less finesse than before. It was possession now, a brand of ownership.

Azkadellia was desperate, and felt as if she was drowning. _If only..._

She didn't know how she did it, just as she didn't know how she had known how to kill DG as a child. Magic flew out of her in a sphere, pushing Zero back and away from her. She glared at him, feeling power emanate from her in waves. "I didn't say you could touch me," she hissed, eyes narrowing. "I didn't say you could _kiss_ me."

Zero's breath caught. Yes, he had overstepped his bounds, but she had let him. She had cowered like a fearful thing, and he couldn't help but take advantage. With this flash of power and grit, she was more like the princess he remembered, more like that Sorceress she was trying to distance herself from. While his smile faltered, his heart sang. _Yes. This_ was his princess, this was the one he served.

"You shouldn't be here," Azkadellia continued, stalking forward. She was gratified to see Zero take an uncertain step back, as if he couldn't quite figure out what his place was. "You shouldn't have come into this palace. You should have stayed hidden."

"The Northern Outpost is gone, Princess!" he protested, coming forward. "Now is the time to do this! There's no one to block your march forward."

"There is no march," Azkadellia told him, deadly serious. "There will be no march south, there will be no overthrow. I don't want the throne. I don't want my mother or sister harmed in any way. _I don't want the throne."_

He looked at her, stunned. The truth was all over her face. "You really don't, do you?"

"No, I don't," Azkadellia replied, voice soft. She may not have been fully conscious of it before, resenting DG for coming in out of the blue and stealing her place in the family. That didn't make it any less true. Her place was no longer on the throne, no longer in the spotlight. She didn't want it anymore, not if it meant having to deal with courtiers and advisors and monsters in human skin like Zero. "I'm content as I am."

"This isn't you," he told her, almost desperately. "That was you just now," he said, shaking his head and pointing vaguely at where they had been standing when her power manifested. "That was you, not this creature they made. How can you just _let_ them take the throne you worked so hard for?"

Zero didn't understand, couldn't understand. Azkadellia wasn't sure if she could even understand it properly herself, let alone explain it. "This is me," she said, voice soft. "This is who I would have been if the Witch hadn't interfered with me."

"She didn't interfere!" Zero said, exasperated. "She only brought out the strength in you, the power. Don't you get it? We _need_ someone strong to rule the OZ. We need you, Azkadellia. We need you on the throne."

"You just want to be at my side," Azkadellia replied coldly. "You don't care what I want."

"Not that long ago, you wanted it, too," he returned, voice cold. Azkadellia's blood froze at the sound of it. This was his killer's voice, the one he used right before killing someone on the Witch's orders. This was who everyone feared.

Zero felt her conviction waver and moved in for the kill. "You wanted this. You wanted the entire OZ united. It would have been a strong rule. It would have been glorious." He caught her arms again, his grip powerfully tight. His gaze was intense, intent on having her remember her former plans for the OZ. "You were a force to behold," he told her fiercely, nearly shaking her as he closed the gap between them. "You are beautiful and powerful and you can't let them break you to pieces just to suit them."

"This isn't—"

"Don't justify what they did to you!" he snapped, shaking her this time. There was no mistaking the anger that was rising up in him. "Don't excuse them for all they've done. They passed you over, they belittled you, they tried to cut you down at every turn. Don't excuse them just because they're blood. A crime against the state is still a crime against the state. Hurting you is still inexcusable, even if they stole the crown back." His smile at her was cold and calculating. "We will get you the crown, even if you'll wear it in name only."

_He'll kill me if he has to,_ she realized with cold clarity.

"Zero..." she began.

"Princess, you will be Queen," he said flatly. "It's going to happen, and you will have your army retake Central City as soon as we get to our camp."

If she couldn't be his image of her, he would _make_ her fit his mold. He would make her go along with what he wanted, if he had to pull the strings and threaten her to do it. _He'll kill me and everyone I love,_ she thought, a chill setting into her bones. Now that she actually had someone to lose, she knew she couldn't let it happen. She would do _anything_ to stop him, anything at all.

With that dread realization came a strange sense of calm, as if time was standing still. _He'll destroy everything and I can't allow that._

His smile was overly smug and confident at her stunned silence. "I've planned it out," he said, voice surprisingly gentle. "I understand if you have to put up a good face and protest. But it's just us here right now. They're not here to listen. And they don't have to be hurt, not to worry. Their brainwashing won't get in the way of your ascension." Zero let go of one of her arms to cradle her face in his palm lovingly. "You will be the greatest Queen the OZ ever had."

Azkadellia leaned into his embrace slightly, and Zero relaxed. His eyes crinkled as he genuinely smiled at her, relieved. She would go along with it. She would be Queen, he would be Advisor, and everything would be the way it was. Everything would be all right, and the OZ would be as it should be.

She turned slightly, face angled to match his. She opened her mouth slightly, her hand resting along his jawline to fix his head in place.

And then she breathed in, and he could feel something _rip_ inside of him.

_But I was loyal!_ his mind shrieked, eyes widening as he realized what she was doing. He was powerless to stop her, even if he knew how to do such a thing. There was no escaping her death embrace once it was begun. But it wasn't fair, it wasn't right. _This was for you!_ he thought wildly, collapsing forward against her. His body no longer responded to his commands, and his chest was a riot of blinding pain. It felt as though he was being shredded from the inside out, pulled and squeezed into tiny little threads that she was inhaling.

And then he didn't know anything anymore.

Azkadellia let his body slip from her arms and crash into the floor. She jumped at the sound of it, startled, and she looked down at the corpse at her feet. The Witch would have walked away, stumbling if it was too difficult a task to do. It wouldn't have mattered who she killed, who she had just ripped to shreds.

Even though it was Zero, even though he was threatening and a psychotic bastard, Azkadellia still felt like retching. She had killed someone. There was no excuse now. There was no blaming the Witch. There was no one else inside of her now, just vague impressions and voices in her head that she ignored. She was the only one in charge of her actions, the only one directing her choices, and she had killed someone.

Azkadellia felt herself falling to her knees, though she didn't realize it was happening as it happened. She was cold and numb inside, shivering inside the thick folds of her emerald dress. Emerald, the same color as the Emerald of the Eclipse, that damned jewel the Witch had been searching for. She couldn't escape it, couldn't escape every reminder of what she had done, what she had allowed to do. She was forever going to be haunted by every mistake she had ever made, every last one.

Her breath hitched and burned inside her chest and her throat closed up. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't focus. Hot tears fell down her cheeks, and she didn't even know why she was crying. The burning sensation was deep inside her chest, a fire in that hole she had felt before. She was almost sick with it, almost physically ill. She could swallow down the nausea, swallow down the sensation that something was wrong with her. Something _was_ wrong with her, but she didn't know what it was. Della might know. Callan might know. They knew how this worked, how to respond properly to killing someone, how to respond to a dead body lying the floor. Maybe they could teach her how to feel, how to keep moving. She couldn't move, frozen to the spot, on all fours and trying to breathe. Maybe they could teach her how to breathe again, how to be something other than a vicious, heartless killer, other than a bitch that drew death all around her.

She would have to do something; she felt wooden and hopeless and _lost_ as she hadn't in those first awful days after the eclipse.

Right now, all she could do was cry.

***  
***


	23. Connection

DG lay next to Cain, his heartbeat steady underneath her ear. Midnight was curled on top of them, snuffling peacefully in his sleep. Cain's breath and heartbeat were steady rhythms that should have lulled her to sleep. Ine'che, Ozma and Bruce were in the next room; DG still didn't know how Ine'che managed to keep Ozma from believing that the sleeping arrangements were anything but appropriate. As long as the little princess didn't say any manner of silly statement, DG was okay with it.

Well, as close to okay as she could be. Some part of her still mourned the crack in their relationsip. How could they repair what happened? She didn't think they were broken, exactly, not as badly as Cain seemed to think, anyway. But some part of her would always remember the blank expression on his face as his hands closed around her throat, just like some part of him would always remember what it felt like. DG did not believe for a minute that he would ever willingly hurt her like that.

But what if there was a part of him capable of such a thing? What if the spell had simply unmasked it, and that part lay deep inside, a dark potential self that was just waiting to be realized if the proper trigger was there?

And that fear lay between them. That fear kept them from taking advantage of the relative privacy that Ine'che had supplied. They could talk about it, they could wonder about it, they could try to do an elaborate dance around it. That fear was still the elephant in the room, the huge monstrosity they couldn't avoid if they tried.

So where did that leave them?

DG closed her eyes and listened to Cain's steady heartbeat. The deep bass beat drawing her in was like a lullaby, a reminder of who she could be when with him. She could feel the chill run through her – _someone walking over my grave_ she thought, superstition getting the better of her in the dark ruins – and wondered if it could ever be so carefree as it had been when they first started heading to the Dawn Sanctuary. Not that _that_ had really been so carefree, but worrying about her reputation and station in the royalty was an entirely different kind of concern. That was a concern she could blow off and not care about. Worrying about her physical safety was completely different. She didn't know how to counter this one.

"I won't lose you," she whispered softly. "Not to this spell, not to this place, not ever. I won't."

Now if she could just figure out how to keep the promise, it would be all right.

***

"There's the end of the forest!" Ozma cried happily, pointing. "Look! I can see the water! That must be Wolf Creek!"

The last time Cain looked at the map, they had been in Silvermoon Glen on the way to the Evergreen Forest. The forest had been a massive smear of black ink across the map, next to the Red River. Across the riverbank had been a blank field then Wolf Creek. Across Wolf Creek had been Featherhold Gate. There was another blank space on the map, rather large this time, then the Dawn Sanctuary.

He wasn't even surprised to see that the map had changed again. They had crossed Evergreen Forest, and now the river in front of them was Wolf Creek. There was Featherhold Gate, which was now the entrance to the Dawn Sanctuary.

DG rolled her eyes at the sight of it but didn't say a word. She wasn't surprised at the news either.

The creek was shallow and easy enough to cross. Even Ozma could cross using the stones in the creek bed, and she skipped along the other side. "We're almost home," she chirped happily. "My Auntie Lurlaine will wine you and dine you and send you home. And I'll get my medicine and my rest and do this all again. Maybe she can collect my friends for me. She does that sometimes, because I forget where I leave them and it's so hard to find them all over this Zone. I get too confused too easily, you know."

DG only sighed. It was too easy to say something snarky, and she just felt _tired._ She gave Ozma a sad smile. "I'm getting to know the feeling."

Cain eyed her sharply, but kept silent. He couldn't help but feel at fault, though he didn't know how he could help her anymore.

Featherhold Gate was nowhere near as grand as its name. There was a low split rail fence made of silvery material. It looked easy enough to climb over, but there was a gate along an old cobblestone path made of broken yellow bricks. The gate looked to be of the same silvery material, but with feathers etched into it and white feathers dangling from the latch. Ozma laughed at the sight of it and skipped forward. She opened the latch easily and gestured for the others to head along the path and through the gate.

They could feel the weight of magic press in on them as they passed through the gate. Ozma dropped the latch into place as she shut the gate behind them. DG turned around and nearly stopped in shock. Instead of seeing Wolf Creek and the forest behind them, she saw a silver wall with a massive ivory gate. Each gate was built to resemble a bird's wing and was carved with thousands of feather shapes. It was an impressive structure, and definitely one that deserved a name like Featherhold Gate.

"More magic," Cain muttered under his breath.

"This _is_ the land of Faerie," Ine'che told him plainly. "It's the land of Perpetual Dawn, and all that happens here is under dominion of Queen Lurlaine." Her voice dropped in volume and she spared a sidelong glace at Ozma. "Tread carefully."

DG fingered the loops and whorls of the red ribbon hastily shoved into her jeans pocket. "Does this mean I have to change and look all princessly?"

Ine'che smiled indulgently at her. "You know, I think I'd like to see her expression at your appearance. I don't know how she handles irreverence."

"Hopefully it's not something that bites me in the butt," DG intoned, following Ozma down the path. The lands were much lusher and greener than any of the other fields had been, and she couldn't help but notice the butterflies that were constantly flitting everywhere. It gave her the distinct feeling of being watched and reported on.

Ozma led them down the yellow brick road, arms wide open as she ran. She nearly did cartwheels along the road, giggling all the while. "I'm home, I'm home, I'm home," she sing-songed as she ran. "Tell Auntie Lurlaine I'm home!"

Almost as a single body, every single butterfly lifted up and flew along the yellow brick road ahead of them. DG sighed. Sometimes she just didn't want to be right.

The castle ahead of them was some gothic monstrosity, all silvery-white stone with elaborate carvings in the walls and along the trellises. The front entrance had a portcullis drawn up and the drawbridge lowered. The portcullis was made of silver, the joins of every square fitted with a large emerald. The drawbridge was birch, and Ozma skipped over it to enter the castle courtyard, singing the same song she had sung earlier. "Two little princesses dancing in a row..."

Ozma led them into the formal throne room. The entire host of butterflies from the fields was flitting about around the woman on the throne. It was a gilded throne with bas relief winged creatures that looked like a cross between butterflies and elves. The woman on the throne looked impossibly young given her ancient eyes. She had long blonde hair that flowed in a straight wave from her head to her waist, held back by an ornate gold filigree crown. Her crystal blue eyes stared at the group of them without expression. She wore a simple white gown belted at the waist with a thick gold belt encrusted with jewels, but otherwise had no other jewelry.

"Auntie Lurlaine!" Ozma cried happily. "I'm home!"

The woman's eyes flicked to Ozma, and she seemed to thaw somewhat. "I see that. And who have you brought to me?"

"These are my new friends. This is Princess DG and her knight Cain. Oh, and Midnight, her little pet mobat. And this is Princess Ine'che and my knight Bruce," she said brightly, indicating each person as she introduced them. DG sketched a curtsy and Ine'che did the same. Cain bowed deeply. Bruce did the same after observing Cain.

"I see..." Lurlaine began, looking over all of them in turn.

"They came with me on my travels, and we explored things and we met some of my old friends. There weren't any Breakers at all, but I got really scared that there might be."

"Ozma, my darling. Come closer and kiss me hello."

Ozma skipped happily to Lurlaine and hopped up onto her lap. Ozma threw her arms around Lurlaine and gave her a kiss on the lips. DG felt even more grossed out with watching that when it looked as though Lurlaine was sliding her tongue into Ozma's mouth.

"That's..." Cain began softly before he shut his jaws with an audible snap.

DG turned her head to look at him in confusion when she realized out of the corner of her eye that wispy material seemed to be flowing out of Ozma and into Lurlaine. It looked exactly like the time she witnessed Azkadellia sucking the life out of the Mystic Man, and she felt downright ill watching it again. She stepped forward, not knowing exactly what she was intending to do, and both Ine'che and Cain grabbed her arms to keep her still.

"What?" she hissed. "That has to stop! She'll kill her!"

"Look," Ine'che cautioned, nodding at the throne.

Lurlane shut her mouth and smiled at Ozma. "You seem different, dear. Less fulfilled by your trip." Her eyes took in Ozma's appearance and dress. "But healthy. How do you suppose that might have happened?"

Ozma shrugged her shoulders negligently and hopped down from Lurlaine's lap. She swayed on the dais, nearly falling over. Bruce rushed forward and caught her before she tumbled down the steps. "Oh, I feel dizzy."

"My lady," Bruce murmured. "What is it? How may I help?"

Lurlaine's eyes snapped to Bruce. She seemed calculating and mercenary for a moment, then looked back at Ozma. "Something is definitely different about you, dear. This trip certainly hasn't been like other trips, as it?"

"But we went to all kinds of places. Tik Tok and Jack and Peter were all left behind, Auntie. I don't know how to get them back."

Lurlaine waved a hand in annoyance. "I have returned them to my Sanctuary for you. They will be here when you wake up from your nap."

"Oh. Oh yes, I forgot. I need to take my potions and sleep. Can Bruce guide my way?"

"He hasn't been here before, dear. He'll need to learn the way."

"I'm sure he can," Ozma insisted, her voice wavering. "I know he can."

Her eyes narrowed again. "Is this how he became your knight, dear heart?"

"Well, yes. He used to be a farmer. But now he's my knight. I'm sure of it."

"Yes, well, let Peaseblossom escort you to your rooms. Your little knight may wait outside, as is proper to do."

Ozma beamed at Lurlaine and sketched a curtsy as best as she could without falling over. "Oh, thank you, Auntie. I'll have better dreams that way."

"I'm sure you will," Lurlaine murmured. She watched Ozma and Bruce be escorted from the throne room, then turned to look at the remaining three travelers. "And you were her other companions, then." Her lips curled into a smile that did nothing to make them feel welcome in her court. "Thank you for accompanying her on her journey. She travels the lands so often, and sometimes has trouble finding her way back home."

DG gave Lurlaine a smile that was completely fake. Only those close to her would realize that, but she hoped it was a good enough fake for Lurlaine. "Our pleasure, Queen Lurlaine. Ozma had mentioned that perhaps you could return us to the OZ?"

She wanted _out_ of this crappy, strange Zone. Even if it meant dealing with the creepy Queen Lurlaine herself.

"So you are the great Dorothy Gale," Lurlaine murmured, looking down at DG from the dais. Her expression was thoughtful, her eyes cold. "You are not what I expected you to be."

DG smiled thinly. "I get that a lot."

"You are hardly a proper princess," Lurlaine contined, as if DG hadn't spoken. "Though Ozma obviously thinks highly of you. She thinks of you as an equal, when it's obviously not the case."

_Because I'm not batty?_ DG thought uncharitably. She shifted on her feet slightly, and Midnight shifted his position on her shoulder. He blinked at Lurlaine, hissing slightly. He didn't like Queen Lurlaine at all. "We get along well."

Lurlaine narrowed her eyes slightly. "She taught you magic, Dorothy Gale. Did you learn the lessons well?"

DG didn't know what game Lurlaine was playing at, and didn't like playing when she didn't know the rules. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Lurlaine. "Well, considering you sucked out most of her soul, I think you know exactly what went down. Why don't you tell me if I learned them well enough?"

She could almost hear Cain smack himself in the head at her impertinence and Ine'che sigh in disappointment. So much for diplomacy.

Lurlaine bristled at DG's tone and words, drawing herself up to her feet. She stood there regally, her hair suddenly wafting about her as if on a breeze. DG could see the light shimmer around her if she looked with that magic sense that she had tried using in the forest. Lurlaine was a swirl of different colors, layers upon layers of color woven into a protective shield around her. Most of it was clear and pink; DG supposed that was Lurlaine's natural self and Ozma's inhaled magic. DG could even see the bright red ribbon threaded through the weaving, appearing to match the red thread she had in her pocket. Somehow it didn't surprise her that somehow Lurlaine was behind Cain's bewitching, though she didn't think Lurlaine would be so angry it didn't work that she'd kill the messenger.

Who knew?

"You go too far," Lurlaine hissed, eyes narrow and thin. DG thought that Lurlaine might be getting crow's feet, but at this point decided it would be better to keep her mouth shut. Lurlaine had _no idea_ how far she could take things sometimes. "You don't understand the things you speak of."

"Oh, come on, now!" DG cried, breaking her own resolve. She shrugged off the gentle hand Ine'che tried to place on her arm. "You kiss Ozma on the mouth and most of her soul winds up getting sucked into your lungs. Is that why her memory is so messed up? Is that why she can't remember to do a damn thing?"

Lurlaine waved her hand, and a wave of magic headed straight for the three of them. Before Ine'che could even react, DG put her hands up. They flared to life with a clear light and the magical wave dissipated. Lurlaine gasped in surprise, but stood her grand.

"Are we going to do some magical posturing now? Because that sounds really lame."

This time Ine'che audibly sighed and Cain groaned. This certainly was not a good way to get on Lurlaine's good side so that she would transport them to the OZ.

"You have no respect and no decorum," Lurlaine said, lip curling in distaste. "You are _not_ a worthy companion for my niece."

"Your niece? Ozma?" DG asked. "You have a really funny way of showing your concern."

"There is no need to explain to you," Lurlaine said, her disdain in full force. She turned her back on them and walked back to her throne. "I doubt you're even a princess."

Anger coiled inside of DG at the words. Even though she had felt like a poor excuse of a princess, and hadn't even known she was one until fairly recently, she didn't like feeling rejected. She didn't like hearing that everything she did was wrong, even if she felt like it sometimes. "I am Princess Dorothy Gale of the Gale line of Oz," DG snapped. "Whatever else that happened, I've never stolen Ozma's magic and lied to her."

"Lied?" Lurlaine repeated, turning around. She stared at DG incredulously and began to laugh. It was a high pitched, almost creepy laugh. "You think I lied to her? Oh, no. She's very well taken care of here," Lurlaine said, tone regal and removed as she sat back down on her throne. "My niece has every comfort, every wish granted. She says she gave all her magic away, repeatedly, and so she has. She likes to travel, and so she does. She wants her companions with her, and she has them, no matter where she misplaces them."

"You have been stealing the very essence of her," Ine'che intoned, her disapproval clear.

Lurlaine swung her gaze to stare at Ine'che. She looked at her, really looked, head tilted to the side as she tried to take in what she was seeing. "You aren't human."

"I am not," Ine'che replied, not supplying any information. Lurlaine had been the one to start the war against wyvernkind.

"She's your _niece,_ you said," DG interrupted. "How could you do this to her?"

"Do what? I give her a home. My sister is the one that fled our lands and took up with a lowly human. I overlooked that after she died and left her daughter behind. I took in my niece, who kept saying she had no magic. The human half of her heritage was good for something," Lurlaine said with a bitter sniff. She curled her lip in disdain at them. "As useless as mortals can be, they can regenerate their magic over time if they're happy enough. So my dear, darling niece gets to believe she has no magic and I get a chance to replenish the stores that are depleted by rearranging a world for her amusement."

"And all the wars you've waged?" Ine'che asked, voice trembling with the effort to contain her growing rage. Lurlaine was so casually dismissive of everyone's pain, of any struggle. It simply didn't matter to her, so it simply didn't exist.

Lurlaine's lip curled into a sneer that marred the beauty of her face. "Wars? There are no wars in my land. Faerie is calm and peaceful and has been for millennia."

"Ozma told us about the bad witches and fairies that used to be here," Cain said, placing a calming hand on Ine'che's arm. She looked ready to fly into a rage or revert to her natural form. While neither Cain nor DG knew that Lurlaine had started the war, they both knew about her covert statements to be careful around Lurlaine.

"Long ago," Lurlaine replied, bored, waving her hand dismissively. "No one important, and there certainly wasn't any war about that."

"You sentenced blood kin into exile," Ine'che intoned, "and others to death. Isn't that war?"

Lurlaine looked at Ine'che with narrowed eyes again. "What are you?"

"Ancient," Ine'che replied heavily, heeding Cain's warning touch. She had almost forgotten herself, almost let her grief and rage overtake her. If she allowed that, Lurlaine would take advantage in a heartbeat and have her killed. As the last of her kind, she owed her family a better memorial than to walk into Lurlaine's parlor and be killed.

Lurlaine sniffed and turned away from Ine'che, frustrated. She didn't like being denied anything she wanted, and now she wanted these strangers to give up all their secrets. "Well, then, if you're going to be difficult about it, you'll simply have to stay here."

"We just want to go back to the OZ," DG cried. "Ozma said you'd be able to help us get there!"

"Perhaps I can," she replied loftily. "But not today and certainly not like this." She waved them off, and suddenly the butterflies around her head swirled and coalesced into a larger human-sized fairy with multicolored wings, straggly blonde hair and mismatched blue and green eyes. "Show them someplace appropriate to stay, my dear."

The multicolored fairy nodded and bowed deeply before Lurlaine. "Of course, my Queen."

Lurlaine smiled sweetly at them, but it seemed almost menacing on her face. "Well, then. You are now guests of Faerie. Welcome to the Dawn Sanctuary."

***  
***


	24. Buried Threads

They found Azkadellia kneeling on the floor, arms wrapped around herself, sobbing. Della ran into her room at breakneck speed, stopping short when he saw that she was unharmed but Zero's body was sprawled across the floor next to her, sightless eyes staring upward. Callan avoided careening into Della by sidestepping him, and he skidded to a stop. "Delia?" he asked, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"No," she sobbed, not looking up.

"Yeah... Okay, dumb question, then," Callan sighed, looking at Della sheepishly. He knelt beside her and Della knelt on Azkadellia's other side. Della took Azkadellia into his arms, and Callan wrapped his arms around her, hands coming to rest over her abdomen. "C'mon, Delia, tell us what happened here. Help us."

"Th-Then you'll h-hate me," she stuttered, burying her face in Della's shirt.

"We couldn't ever do that," Della sighed, stroking her hair gently. He dropped his chin onto the top of her head. "We love you too much for that."

"I killed him," she whispered hoarsely, turning her head slightly. She couldn't meet the eyes of either man. "I just killed him."

"Saved us the trouble," Della murmured against her hair.

"Not a great loss for the world," Callan added, shrugging.

Azkadellia pushed them both away. "You don't understand," she said desperately, looking at them intently. "I killed him. _I_ killed him. No one else, just me."

The tin men paused, letting that sink in. "The others, you could say it was the Sorceress," Della said slowly. "But you're not possessed."

Azkadellia nodded, tears in her eyes. "Yes."

"There must've been a good reason," Callan insisted.

"He scared me," she whispered. "He wanted to overthrow my mother and put me on the throne, he wanted to hurt them." She clenched her fists in her lap and looked down at them. "I couldn't let him do that. I couldn't."

"Well, of course not," Callan agreed, nodding. "So, if we have that settled, shall I go get rid of the body?"

Azkadellia shuddered, unable to answer. Della nodded briskly at Callan, who promptly rolled to his feet and scooped up Zero's body to throw over his shoulder. He swiftly left the room, and Azkadellia didn't have the heart to ask him to stop. It was her problem, her mess. She should have been the one to clean it up.

She let Della pull her against him again. She was startled when Callan came back fairly quickly, no sign of Zero's corpse. "What? What did you do with him?"

"There's a hole in the window in one of the other rooms down the hall," Callan replied with a negligent shrug. "Just tossed him out into the frozen lake below."

"How did you know it was there?" she asked, a chill running down her spine.

Callan shrugged again. "Just did. I wanted a convenient place to stash it, and I just knew. Kind of like how I just knew where to find Della and when you were in trouble."

Azkadellia's eyes were drawn to the new sword at his waist and the long dagger strapped to his thigh. She took a closer look at Della and saw that he had two new guns holstered to his belt. She scuttled backward a bit. "What have I done?" she whispered, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"What are you talking about?" Della asked, confused.

"I've corrupted you both," she whispered, voice breaking. "I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have put spells on you. I need to take them back, take it off, get rid of it." Azkadellia was starting to hyperventilate, hands over her mouth in her horror. "I shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have thought I could change things. I shouldn't have..."

Callan and Della both swooped in on her and pulled her hands away from her mouth. "What are you talking about? So we can find you. We wanted that," Callan told her, confused.

"What's this really about?" Della asked, voice deep and quiet.

"I've changed you. You know things you shouldn't, and I ruined you. What else did I ruin? What else did I change in you?" Azkadellia turned frightened eyes on each of them in turn. "I shouldn't have thought I could change the old magicks."

Callan pulled her into his arms and rocked her slightly. "You put part of yourself into that spell, didn't you? You tied us to you."

"I shouldn't have," Azkadellia began to sob. "I've ruined..."

"Nothing," Della interrupted calmly. "So that spell ties us together. It isn't as if we weren't already, as if we weren't already promising all of ourselves in this." He took her head in his hands gently. "That spell just made it easier. We can find you if you're in danger. We can find you if you get lost. And maybe that means we tap into what you know."

"I don't know about any broken windows."

"You know the castle," Della replied. "It knows you."

"This place is magic," Callan agreed. "I can feel it now, more than when I first walked in. So maybe it told me where to go because it knew that I needed to know that to help you."

Azkadellia sniffled. "I don't want to make you—"

"Let's stop you right there," Della said gently. "You're not making us do anything."

"It's our choice to be here," Callan murmured against her hair. "Just like it was his choice to be a creep and force your hand."

"I could have chosen not to kill him. I should have."

"I don't think he was terribly stable," Callan protested.

"I should have ordered him to leave. I should have told him to go back to his followers and leave me alone. I could have done something different. I didn't have to kill him."

Della sighed, shaking his head to indicate he didn't believe that statement for a moment. "What was it like?" Callan asked gently. He ignored Della's incredulous stare. What? She had told him not that long ago it was better to simply ask and not dance around a topic. Why start acting differently now?

"I took him apart layer by layer," she whispered, unable to meet his gaze. She seemed to fall into herself a little, and Callan almost felt bad for prodding at the psychic wound. Still, this was something she was eventually going to have to face, and it was better if he understood what she was afraid of.

"So people have layers?"

"Kind of. Patterns, really. It's how they think, how they behave." She looked up then, a pleading expression on her face. "I undid everything that made him who he was, and just breathed it all in. I shattered his soul to pieces and just killed him. I can hear him, you don't understand. It's like a ghost in the back of my head."

"Patterns? Like in a painting?" Della asked, brows knit in confusion.

"Or a weaving in cloth?" Callan asked, touching the fabric on her corset.

She looked at the woven pattern in the gold cloth, the subtle symbols of the House of Gale, and then looked back up in understanding. "Yes, it's exactly like that. If a person is like this," she murmured, indicating the weaving in her corset, "then I took apart everything. I unwove everything that made him Zero and left just the shell behind."

"So in theory, you could probably weave it back together and reanimate him?" Della mused.

"Well, if I didn't just throw his body into a frozen lake," Callan added wryly.

Azkadellia looked at them stunned. It still hadn't quite sunk in yet that not only didn't they seem to think she was a monster, they were trying to understand the process by which she killed. It was surreal.

"I'd think all those others from the Sorceress' time are done for, too," Callan went on, shrugging. "Nowhere to put a woven soul anymore, right? The bodies were all secretly disposed of. Not even the rumors named anything."

She grasped hold of his arm and squeezed. "Stop," she whispered, shaking her head. "Don't make this sound simple."

"Oh, I'm sure it isn't," Callan protested, shaking his head. "But I don't know this magic thing, so thinking of it like weaving a piece of cloth makes it easier for me to understand."

"I'm fairly sure that magic isn't made of threads," Della said with a snort. "If it was, I'd think it would be easier to simply undo magic and go about your merry way without worry."

Azkadellia sat very still as it all seemed to sink in. She turned to each of them, a look of wonder on her face. "But it is like that," she whispered. "The witch did treat magic like that."

"Huh." Della looked over at Azkadellia, surprised that it had been useful. "So does everyone have magic, then?"

She shook her head. "It's just certain people that have the ability to channel their life force into it. But everyone can sense it, I guess. And they can regenerate their life force if they've motivation enough." She pressed her fingertips to her lips as she thought of what she had just said. "What if she couldn't?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The witch was imprisoned alone for thousands of years, just her and the creatures..."

"Your children," Della supplied helpfully when she faltered over the word _creatures._ She obviously still found it difficult to think of them as anything but children after so many years caring for them.

Callan snorted. "Well, I hope you didn't actually birth them. I'd've thought your children would be prettier than that."

Azkadellia couldn't help but laugh as Della smacked Callan on the back of the head. She knew she should still be upset about being a murderer, that she should be upset about caring about the creatures her mother called demons. She couldn't help it, though. That same wonder she'd had as a child about learning magic was still with her. Learning that there had been a system to her ability all along was incredible. Why hadn't Tutor known about all of this?

Maybe it had been lost. The Witch had been powerful, but still imprisoned. Her sister the Ice Witch was likely just as old and just as imprisoned, hence the reliance on the Breakers. And now it made sense how they had been able to attack her. They followed her magical signal from the travel storm amulet back to her and had started to unravel her magic from the inside out. They had been stealing it so they could feed the Ice Witch, who couldn't have been happy in her isolation. Misery led to falling magic levels, everyone knew that.

"Maybe you can make them again," Della murmured, taking hold of Azkadellia's cold hands. He rubbed them gently. "If all those lost souls are still with you, if you know everything the witch knew, then you can use that."

"Make them prettier," Callan said, nodding.

"Shallow bastard," Della told him, though it was without heat. Callan only grinned in reply.

"I don't know if it works that way," Azkadellia murmured, shaking her head. "I mean, I try to ignore all those pieces..."

"Well, sure, if you can't give them back," Callan agreed readily. He tugged on a lock of her hair. "But, I'm wondering something now. If people are made of magic threads woven together, and you unravel them if you kill them, then can't you just weave their threads into _your_ weaving? So then it's not like all these random noisy threads floating around?"

She opened her mouth and then shut it. "I don't know. I've never tried before."

"Well, why not try it? It might help quiet things down a bit." Callan leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. "It won't change things, but it might help you deal with it better."

DG was floating about in her head, Azkadellia suddenly realized. _I can make it right. I can give her back._

"I suppose I should meditate on this," she murmured shakily. "I haven't done it before, and I wouldn't know where to start."

"Start with Zero," Della rumbled. "If you mess up and he's lost forever, no small loss."

"You don't like him at all, do you?" Azkadellia guessed wryly.

"He was arrogant and sadistic," Della replied with a shrug. "What's to like? And he killed half the department in Central City. I'm not likely to forgive that one anytime soon."

Azkadellia touched his face gently. "I'm sorry."

"Well, they went down fighting," he said with another shrug. Callan was nodding in agreement at that. "Better than being tortured."

"So how do you usually meditate?" Callan asked, switching topics.

Frowning, Azkadellia tried to remember. The Witch hadn't done it often, but usually would stand in the center of the room and simply will her mind blank. Azkadellia had always had to sit or lie down as a child, and she had struggled a lot to keep her mind under control. "When I was younger I had to lie down," she began slowly. "I can't remember what I did next."

"Humph. That was probably because you fell asleep," Della teased.

They laughed and Callan hoisted Azkadellia to her feet. "Well, you're going to meditate and think and whatever it is that magical folk do. We can stay with you, if you like."

"Please?" Azkadellia asked, voice fragile. "In case I don't come back to myself?"

"As if we'd ever let that happen," Della snorted, shaking his head. He rolled to his feet and followed her over to her bed. He unbuckled his holsters and put them down on the floor. "Get comfortable, and we'll watch over you." Callan undid the buckles on his sword and laid it carefully down on the bedside table. He took off his uniform shirt and pants, which caught Della's attention. "What are you doing?"

"What? I was going to lay down next to Delia, and all the ammo in my pockets would hurt if I laid down on them."

Azkadellia couldn't help but giggle at Della's disgruntled expression, though she noted that he did the same thing once he stopped shaking his head. "Somehow I doubt this good deed is about meditation, Benji."

He playfully leered at her, but shook his head. "You settle better at night if we're with you. So I thought it might help meditation, too."

Touched that he remembered a detail like that, Azkadellia clambered up onto the bed and stretched out. Her tin men settled into the bed on either side of her. Neither did anything more than get into a comfortable position around her, and she rather liked the feeling of lounging with them. Hopefully she would be able to keep them with her when she returned to Central City. She didn't want to lose either of them.

She closed her eyes and emptied out her mind a bit. The old exercises came back to her easily, and with it came the knowledge that all of the lives she had taken were with her. She could feel them, the dozens of them over the past fifteen annuals, beginning with DG. That life she carefully set aside. The others, she considered carefully. Della had said to start with Zero, but for some reason she felt almost guilty for even thinking of mangling his soul. He was misguided, certainly, and cruel, but he had loved her after a fashion, didn't he? She'd ruined enough lives already, and if she mangled that one, it would make her wonder what else she would do to people that loved her.

There were plenty of nameless, faceless individuals the Witch had disposed of over the annuals. She seized one at random and tried to focus on it. It was almost like needlepoint, taking the threads and working them into the pattern she thought of as herself. One by one, she threaded these other fractured souls through herself. Stray thoughts seemed to solidify in her mind, and some of their skills seemed to sink in and become her own. Zero was integrated much more easily than she thought, and gave her less regret than she had thought it might. The last one was Aliana, the shreds left behind when they were separated at the eclipse. It had been messy, done without finesse, and that was why Azkadellia could remember things about Aliana that she had never really known before. Aliana was quiet, much more docile than even Zero had been, and seemed to give her consent for the task. _And now we're whole once again,_ Aliana seemed to tell her. _And now you can breathe._

When she opened her eyes again, Azkadellia did feel whole again. She could breathe easier, and she _knew_ what she had to do.

She knew where the Ice Witch was imprisoned, waiting in the dark and ice, hoping the Breakers would shatter reality enough that she could escape the prison she had been left in.

She knew where the Ice Witch was, and she knew how to kill her.

***  
***


	25. The Dark Side of Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Profound thanks to LJ user "mynuet" for whipping this chapter into shape from its original form. This chapter gets disturbing for entirely different reasons that I've had in the rest of this fic. No children, okay? May be triggering.

They had been ushered into a guest suite. Cain had made a great show of looking around for listening devices and the like, but DG didn't have the heart to tell him to stop. They were in _Faerie,_ so most likely it would be magic used to spy on them, not mechanical devices. She looked at Ine'che, who merely looked around the suite unhappily. "This was not my idea of a travel destination," she said finally, shrugging. "But I suppose it's better than the boredom."

DG stuck her hands in her pockets and felt the tangle of red ribbon lying in her pocket. "I need to find Ozma."

"The Queen said that she was resting," Cain replied, lips pursed. He didn't trust the suite one bit, even if he couldn't find anything specifically wrong with it. His gut simply refused to let him rest.

DG pulled the ribbon out of her pocket with a flourish. Ine'che frowned at her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"The creature that put that spell on Wyatt somehow got bound up with the Queen. I saw it when I looked at her. But, I think it came here on Ozma, like a piggyback ride. There's enough of the critter that was bound up around Wyatt that I might be able to bring it back."

"For what? More black magic?" Cain asked, irritated and fearful at once. He hadn't been in control of his own body, hadn't been able to do anything to stop himself from hurting DG. He couldn't ever forgive himself for that.

She shook her head. "If this thing's job was to hurt you, and the Queen still destroyed it, don't you think it might be more grateful to be brought back to life?"

"And what?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"And then tell me where to find Ozma. Lurlaine obviously dotes on her in her sick, twisted little way. If I can convince Ozma to make Lurlaine send us back, Lurlaine would be obligated to."

"It's an idea," Ine'che offered, giving Cain a pained expression. "There isn't much better to go on. The only other way I know of is to go by soft places, but there's no guarantee. I couldn't demand such a thing from the Queen. She'd likely rend me limb from limb. I already shouldn't have hinted at my age. There are few creatures so long lived. She might think me a rogue fey or part of the Unseelie Court at this point, but it might change with more I let slip." She grimaced. "I hope she doesn't think I'm with the Unseelie Court. She decimated their population easily enough the last time they sought to openly challenge her."

"Who were they?" DG asked, fingering the ribbon. It was soft and velvety, with its fancy laced edge. She could almost find the threads of magic within the ribbon again.

"Her cousins led the Unseelie Court," Ine'che admitted with a sigh. "They were factioned with the wyverns, dragons, selkies and a handful of unicorns. Needless to say, her cousins were banished, most of the wyverns were killed and as many of the others that couldn't hide properly. It was a useless war."

"In other words, if you really think she thinks you're part of the Unseelie Court, we need to get out of here," Cain said, eyes falling onto the spool of tangled red ribbon in DG's hands. "That's the only option we have, then."

"Be careful," Ine'che hissed as DG untangled the ribbon. "One misstep, and it's not just you that dies. She'll kill all of us and anyone else we've ever come into contact with. That's how she is. She eliminates everyone and everything in her way."

"Here's hoping it works," DG muttered, licking her lips and then pressing them together. She concentrated on the form of the threads in the ribbon, on the life still evident within the spell threads. Ozma had said that stealing the magic would steal part of a soul. DG was hoping that returning the magic meant that she could return the soul and bring the life back.

As the ribbon in her hands faded out, thread by thread, the vague outline of a female form with a blank face appeared. DG couldn't tell if the mouth and eyes were missing because that was the way the creature actually looked, or if the features couldn't be formed because there wasn't enough of its magic left. It was a ghostly shape, vaguely female by the curve of hip and breast, with hair streaming from the head in a cloud.

_i did not think you would resurrect me, that you would be angry with interference,_ the shape seemed to say without a mouth.

DG blinked, and looked at the other two in shock. Sure enough, they could hear it, too, though the voice wasn't carried by sound. "Um... Well, I wasn't happy at the time. I love him, you know. That wasn't very nice of you."

The shape nodded almost mournfully. _it was why that was chosen to serve as distraction, for my lady the queen required you to tarry in the forests,_ the shape said.

"Why?"

_the better to collect the essence,_ the shape said, as if DG should have realized it herself. _few are privy to such knowledge, but surely you must be, princess_

you interfered with my lady the queen's design, absorbed the light pure and untainted by time or lineage

Everyone stared at DG. "What? It's not like I did anything on purpose!" she blurted. "She zapped me in the forest, though, and she did magic on Bruce, you saw her!"

The strange shape nodded. _so this was not your own design, then?_

"Absolutely not. Ozma said her aunt could get us back home. That's all we want."

_she thought you would interfere with her design and lessen her magic vessels, but i did not stop any of you as i was instructed,_ the shape said, its tone almost mournful. _and so even though i was present with her vessel to return to court, my lady the queen saw fit to punish me and take away what she could of my essence_

The shape cocked its head at DG. _yet you have resurrected me, given me form and shape once again_

"You mean you always look like that?" It nodded almost regally. "Oh. Who knew?" DG said, shrugging. "I thought maybe I didn't get it right."

_you have basic intuitive knowledge enhanced by the princess, and now enhanced again with her essence_

"Huh. Think you could point me to where Ozma is in the castle? I need to ask her to talk to Lurlaine on our behalf. I think the Queen is angry with us," DG admitted, grimacing.

_that she is,_ the shape agreed, nodding. _i will bring you to the princess, and you may speak with her to intercede_

i am in your debt, princess, and it is not given lightly

DG looked at the bowing creature, nonplused. "Um. Yes. Thank you. Yes. Okay, then. Let's go see Ozma."

The creature shook its head. _just you, princess, as the others would draw too much unwanted attention if they came with you_

With a sigh, DG stood. Obviously unhappy, Cain and Ine'che promised to remain where they were. DG followed the ghostly outline of the creature, which wafted on air and could barely be seen. It was like a shadow, and she could understand why she had never realized they were being followed in the forest before. _in there,_ the creature said, pointing toward Ozma's suite. _i will wait here as you converse to preserve your privacy, as it is not my place to know what you speak of_

"Thank you," DG murmured, slipping inside the suite.

She heard a gasp in the next room and frowned. Did Ozma know she was there already? DG could barely see in the darkened suite, but there was candlelight coming from the next room. She assumed it to be set up similarly to the palace in Central City, in which case this room was the sitting room and the next was the actual bedroom. DG slowly crept through the darkened room, trying to feel her way around the large furniture. For someone so inherently childlike, the sitting room was filled with massive adult-sized pieces.

DG stopped short at the bedroom's entrance. Lurlaine was there, and DG wanted to storm in, hands ablaze. She had to do something, and almost took a step forward into Ozma's bedroom. Only her promise to Ine'che stopped her.

Ozma had changed from her frilly dress to some kind of diaphanous sleeveless nightgown. It likely went down past her knees, but Lurlaine had hiked it up past Ozma's waist. Ozma was as bare as any young girl, or like the thousands of porcelain dolls lining the walls of her bedroom. It was a child's room, decorated in various shades of pink and fuschia with white trim. She seemed so small inside of her massive bed, nearly drowning inside massive piles of pillows and sheets, the sheer white canopy drawn back on either side of the bed. Lurlaine was sitting beside Ozma, stroking her breasts with one hand through the nightgown. The other was nestled firmly between Ozma's legs, two fingers inside of her.

"Auntie," Ozma gasped, eyes barely open. "Hurts..."

DG bit her lip painfully to keep from shouting. Confronting Lurlaine about anything was signing her death warrant, as well as everyone else's. As much as she would have loved to do or say something, it wasn't her own life that hung in the balance.

"I know, sweetling," Lurlaine crooned, lips stretched wide into something resembling a smile. DG could feel her skin crawl at the sight of her. "Auntie will make you feel all better. Promise. Just spread your legs wider for me."

"I want to sleep," Ozma whined, twisting slightly beneath Lurlaine's hands. "Can't I sleep? The potions make me tired."

"When I'm done," Lurlaine murmured, voice tight. She pinched a nipple, making Ozma gasp again. "You'll sleep well after. You always do."

"I don't like this part," Ozma whimpered, turning her face away.

DG had to bite her lip and curl her nails into her palm. She couldn't simply run into the room swinging, she reminded herself. She'd likely be killed on the spot. Lurlaine's other enemies had died for less.

"You will," Lurlaine promised. She stroked one nipple with her thumb and then bent down and took the other into her mouth. She sucked on it through the gauzy material, making Ozma gasp. She arched into Lurlaine's mouth, whimpering. Lurlaine's fingers inside of her moved quickly, a punishing pace, dry and scraping at her.

"Auntie," Ozma whimpered, twisting beneath her aunt's mouth. "Please..."

Lurlaine pinched Ozma's other nipple and nipped at the one in her mouth. "This is how it is," Lurlaine told her firmly. "You know this." She pushed the nightgown the rest of the way up, her right hand still between Ozma's legs. Her fingers thrust into her, pumping at a rapid rhythm that couldn't have been pleasurable. "You'll like it. You always do, by the end." Lurlaine bent her head down and licked at Ozma's breasts, then down to the bare juncture of her thighs. She licked at Ozma's clit, then took it between her lips and sucked gently. Ozma made a mewling sound, her hands caught beneath the blankets.

DG wanted to throw up when she realized why. Ozma's wrists were tied down.

Ozma's mewls turned into soft whimpers, and the bucking grew less coordinated. "That's it," Lurlaine breathed, licking the inside of her thigh. "Just like that, pet." She kept her hand moving at its same steady pace, and then took a breast into her mouth again. She suckled ravenously, and Ozma gasped in startled pleasure. Ozma began to buck her hips against Lurlaine's fingers, nearly sobbing as she writhed. Lurlaine leaned over her, lips near Ozma's ear. "That's it, pet. My pretty, pretty pet. You taste delicious. That's it. Like that. Yes, my darling. Start the healing. Grow again, grow strong enough to taste again." Lurlaine licked the shell of Ozma's ear. "Yes, that's it. You see? You like this. You like it when I come to you. That's it, pet. Yes, that's it, like that. Move like that. Feel my fingers inside of you. Feel that, darling? This is how it starts. This is how it always starts, and you like this. You always like this. You just like to pretend you're innocent, that you don't want it. But you want this. You want it so badly, don't you pet? Why don't you tell me how much you want it?"

Ozma could only sob incoherently, shaking beneath Lurlaine's hands. She came with a startled cry, arching up against Lurlaine and straining at the wrist restraints. When she collapsed back down onto the bed, Lurlaine withdrew her fingers and sucked on them absently. She used her left hand to pull the nightgown back down to cover Ozma's shivering body. With a wave of her hand, the wrist restraints disappeared.

"You see, pet? Everything's better now. Now sleep, and you'll be rejuvenated when you wake."

"Where's Bruce?" Ozma sobbed. "He's my knight, Auntie. He's supposed to protect me."

DG pressed her face into the sitting room wall. She could guess what happened to Bruce, just as she could guess what would happen to her, or Cain or Ine'che or anyone else they'd spoken to along their path. She had to do _something,_ but she couldn't run in half cocked. She had promised, but that didn't mean she had to sit by and let things happen. She _couldn't_ just let things happen. She would have to come up with something, and fast.

Lurlaine sniffed imperiously. "He wasn't suitable, my dear. I think you'll need to take another red potion when you wake." She moved to a cabinet beside Ozma's bed and removed a beaker filled with a clear red liquid. She set it down on the nightstand and patted Ozma's hair. "That way, you'll feel better when you wake."

Ozma shrank back, whimpering. "Auntie?"

Her cold mask froze in place. "Yes?"

"Is Bruce okay?"

Her smile was cold. "Of course. He's in training to be a proper knight. Don't forget your potion when you wake from your nap."

"Yes, Auntie," she replied in a small voice as Lurlaine leaned down to kiss her forehead. DG saw her sketch a runic shape against Ozma's forehead with her right thumb, which briefly flared white and then disappeared into her skin.

Lurlaine swept out of the bedroom and then out of Ozma's suite. DG pressed herself against the walls of the sitting room in the dark, just in case Lurlaine could see her, but apparently Lurlaine was too absorbed to notice anything. DG closed her eyes, but there was no way she could possibly unsee what she had just seen. And she didn't know what she could possibly do right then and there. Now what?

Ozma started when DG snuck into her room. She pulled one of her pink sheets up over herself, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "Dorothy?"

"Hey. Just me. Are you okay?"

"Of course," Ozma said brightly. Her face was carefully blank, but DG knew her well enough by now to see she was bothered by something. "How can I help you, Dorothy?"

DG bit her lip and sat down on the edge of Ozma's bed. "Um..."

"That's not very princesslike behavior," Ozma chastised her, sounding more like her old self. DG smiled at the sound of that tone. "Just because I'm tired and we're friends doesn't mean you forget all of your lessons."

DG could have cried. Ozma sounded just like herself, just the way she used to be during their trip, and not like the gasping traumatized thing just moments before. She merely nodded and took a deep breath. "Just wanted to see you, that's all," DG said, feeling stupid.

"I thought you would've gone home already."

DG flushed. "I may have opened up my big mouth and said things I shouldn't."

Laughing, Ozma threw her arms around DG. "Oh, Dorothy. You need to stop doing all these silly non-princessy things. It isn't right. Why don't I go talk to Auntie Lurlaine now? I'll get dressed and we can send you home."

DG wasn't sure if she could stomach seeing Lurlaine. Frowning, DG shook her head. "I'm not exactly her favorite person right now. And I don't want her getting mad at you for speaking on our behalf, either."

"Oh, she would never get mad at me," Ozma protested. "She loves me."

_Of course she does. Just not the way an aunt should,_ DG thought, managing not to wince. On impulse, she squeezed Ozma's hand in hers. "Why don't you come with us? It's been so long since you've been there, it'll be brand new. It'll be an adventure. You can see the OZ and live with us."

Ozma laughed, sounding like the tinkling of little bells. "Oh, Dorothy. I couldn't do that. I have to stay here. This is my home now, as it has been for a long time. I don't think I'd fit in Oz anymore. But thank you. Maybe I'll visit you in mirrors sometime."

DG bit her lip, not sure if she should say something. "Why do you stay here?"

Something flickered across Ozma's features, but it was gone before DG could even identify it. "I have everything I need here," Ozma said brightly. "I couldn't want anything more."

It wasn't an answer, but DG didn't feel comfortable pressing her for more. "Just..." _I can't just leave her here! I have to do something!_ "You know what? I have a great idea. Why don't you come to _my_ home?"

"Oh, but I'm happy here," Ozma insisted, shaking her head. "I like traveling about the world and coming home every once in a while. I meet such wonderful people. And I always see new and interesting things. It's wonderful. Traveling makes me happy."

"You could travel around the OZ with me," DG said, almost desperate. "I haven't even seen it all yet. I've only lived there a few months. There's so much to see there, so many people to meet. Come with me to the OZ, Ozma. It must be so different from what you remember. You can travel around with me and see what it looks like."

Ozma shook her head as she got up from bed. She noticed the red potion on her bedside table and drank it quickly before DG could protest. She started looking around her room almost fearfully, but then took in DG sitting on her bed. "Oh! You're still here. Why are you here? Why aren't you home yet? You should be home by now."

"Um..." DG almost winced. "I'm trying to get you to go home with me."

Ozma let the diaphanous gown fall from her shoulders as she dressed in front of DG. "I'll ask my Auntie now. I'm sure she'll say yes. Auntie Lurlaine loves me," she said firmly. She didn't quite meet DG's eyes; DG didn't think she would have noticed it before. "She loves me, so she'll do this. I'm sure of it." Ozma whirled around, the white silk skirt flaring up around her waist. "Lovely, isn't it? I think this one is my favorite. I should get you one just like it, so then we would match. And then you would have something to remember me by."

"All right," DG said with a sigh. Whatever made her happy, right? How could she be such a bitch to Ozma now?

"And Ine'che needs dresses, doesn't she?" Ozma piled a few dresses into her arms for her and Ine'che to sort through.

DG frowned. "Can we not talk about dresses now?"

"But why? You need some. You don't look princessly enough without them. And Ine'che. Auntie Lurlaine didn't recognize her as a princess. I had to tell her so. People really need to be able to know that you're a peer of the realm. And how will they know unless you look the part?" Ozma smiled at DG from her wardrobe.

"Please, can we not talk about that? Come with me. Come to the OZ. You keep talking about Oz and how beautiful it was and how wonderful it was to travel with the first Dorothy. Come with me. We'll travel together." DG smiled, hoping she didn't look crazed.

Touched, Ozma turned from her wardrobe and waved a scarf at DG. "Oh, isn't that thoughtful? I do enjoy traveling. But it's so hard to return home again from your world. Isn't that the problem we have right now? You need to go back. You can't just travel around my world with me all the time. Your family must miss you."

"Um, yeah. I'm sure they do," DG agreed. "I know my mother would love to meet you. And my sister would love you as a friend." A lie, maybe, but DG could hope. That way, Azkadellia wouldn't feel so alone in the palace.

Ozma merely laughed. "But I have friends here. And I'm needed here. Really, Dorothy, I appreciate it. But I have to stay, you understand."

"No, I don't," DG sad, jumping up to her feet. "You have to come with me. C'mon, Ozma. Come with me. You can't stay here like this."

Ozma ignored DG as she dug into her jewelry box and pulled out a silver locket. "Here. This is magic." DG could feel the magic pulsing inside of the shut locket and looked at Ozma, a question written on her face that she didn't get a chance to ask. "It's from the Emerald City. It's an emerald inside. It's one of the crown jewels from the throne. I shouldn't have kept it, but I did. You should have it." Ozma slipped the locket over DG's head and let the locket fall under her shirt. "Hide it. Even Auntie Lurlaine didn't know I had that, all right?"

"All right," DG agreed. "But come with me, Ozma. There's so much more to see!"

"Oh, silly. I'm fine. I love it here. You go home to be with your family, and I'll stay here with mine. I'm fine, really. Now, out you go with all of these."

DG let Ozma push her out of the door and into the hallway. The vaguely female shaped creature detached from the shadows on the wall and led her back to her own visitor's suite. She couldn't do anything more than drop the dresses onto the floor and sit there numbly, not able to think about anything else but Ozma's feeble cries and Lurlaine insisting that she liked that kind of thing. She needed to scrub off her skin, peel away her eyes, _something_ to take the memory away.

"Are you all right?" Cain asked, kneeling to sit there beside her.

"No," DG murmured, shaking her head. She looked from Cain to Ine'che. "We have to somehow get out of here and take Ozma with us." Without too much prompting, Ozma's story tumbled out. Surely they could think of a way to help her.

***  
***


	26. Bad Company

Azkadellia smiled indulgently as Della and Callan buckled her into the winter gear they had obtained from the Northern Outpost. She was in one of her thickest gowns, wearing her thickest gloves and the boots with the sensible heels so she wouldn't get caught in the snow and turn her ankle again. They still declared that it wasn't nearly warm enough. They knew, having trudged through the snow and ice to get to the Winter Palace, and it was bound to be colder as they moved further north to find the Ice Witch's prison. She had offered to try the transportation spell, but they wouldn't hear of it. She might have become more confident with magic and understanding how it worked, but to go from one person to three all at once was more risk than they were willing to take.

"It's all right," Azkadellia told them, a soft smile on her face. "I know how this works now. I can do this."

"I'd rather not take the risk, Delia," Callan said, shrugging.

Della moved to buckle her travel pack in place over the thick parka. "This will give us time to figure out a strategy, anyway."

"But I already know what I'm going to do," Azkadellia replied, shrugging. "We simply have to join forces, and she'll be neutralized."

The tin men paused and took in her smug expression. "Join forces?"

"Of course. How else will the OZ be safe?" she asked, eyebrows raised. She had that indulgent smile on her face again, but Della could feel his spine crawl at the sight of it. Something wasn't quite right. "Mother dearest wanted the OZ safe at any cost, and that's just what will happen when we get to the northern caverns."

Callan stilled, hands still at her waist. "What are you going to do?"

"Neutralize her, of course."

Her posture was too self assured, too odd. She didn't seem herself at all. While she had never been hesitant about magic, she had always been hesitant about using it in a way that would have them question her intentions. She was only too aware of her time as the Sorceress, only too aware that the public still feared her very existence. She would never be so cavalier about magic, never even obliquely reference murder as anything less than the serious act it was.

"She won't go down easy," Della murmured, head cocked to the side. He was standing on her right side, Callan at her left. Somehow he didn't even feel safe flicking a glance at Callan to see if he was growing disturbed by her attitude.

Azkadellia's lips curled into a sneer. "That won't matter. I know how to kill her easily enough. And then there's no more threat to the OZ. Mother will have to welcome me back with open arms. She'll have to love me again. And since her precious DG ran away, she'll have to name me as the heir again." The expression on her face was cold, her eyes like glittering chips of ice. "She'll see that she should have trusted my judgment. She should have left me in charge."

Della moved behind her, pretending to check a buckle. He didn't like what he was hearing. "I see. And what will happen to the Queen?"

"Once she names me heir, it's easy enough to set things to rights."

Callan looked at Azkadellia in horror. "You don't mean to kill her?"

Azkadellia snorted, her lip curled in derision at Callan. "Don't be stupid. Then I really will have a revolt on my hands. No. As long as she steps down and plays advisor, the people will be mollified enough to accept me. And then change can really take place."

Della wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her in place. "The Azkadellia I know would never say something like this."

She struggled, which only made him hold her tighter. Unsure of what to do, Callan stood there with a hand over his sword, brows knit in confusion. "What are you doing?" Azkadellia hissed at him. "Make him let me go! I have work to do!"

"I'm trying to figure out who you are," Callan replied slowly, shaking his head. "You're certainly not Delia."

Azkadellia dropped down, lifting her arms to push Della's away. She spun around, her elbow hitting Della in the ribs. He hadn't put on the northern gear yet, so there was no thick padding to cushion the blow. He grunted and staggered back a step, his eyes narrowing at her. Azkadellia certainly had no knowledge of self defense or fighting, but she had fallen into a classic defensive stance. His face hardened as he took it in. "I think you don't want to do this, Delia."

The expression on her face was cold and calculating. "You won't kill us. You haven't got it in you." The sneer she gave him made his blood run cold; he had seen it on Zero's face often enough whenever he went through Central City as if he owned it. "And they said you were the best among the tin men."

Della moved forward, intending to subdue Azkadellia without harming her. She hit him right in the jaw with a solid uppercut, her other hand striking his throat with the side of her hand. Choking, Della stumbled back, staring at her in disbelief.

"You're such a fool," Azkadellia sneered, his pistol in her hand. She took aim, sighting down the barrel to strike his heart. "I could have used you when we took over Central City. I could have made you a General, and you refused. You liked the muck at the bottom of the streets. I can put your dead body right there."

Callan struck her on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword and watched her crumple heavily to the ground. He sighed, then helped Della to his feet. "Sorry, man."

"You know, of all the hare brained ideas you've ever had, telling her to integrate that psychopath Zero is probably the worst one."

"I said I was sorry! I didn't know!"

Della looked down at Azkadellia's sprawled form. "Well, this complicates things."

"As if it wasn't complicated enough already," Callan sighed.

"This is going to be difficult," Della murmured, kneeling down to undo the buckles on the suit. "She's right, we can't kill her."

"No, we can't. But she's also in there somewhere. And I'm sure that she'll figure out a way to get him under control or get rid of him."

Della looked at Callan heavily. "She couldn't do it with the witch, you know."

"She was a girl. And that was one fucked up relationship, anyway." Della nodded in agreement. "She has us to fight for now." Callan pressed his lips together as he undid the last buckle on the suit. "So we just have to give her the time she needs to get it right. And not fall for it when the bastard comes to the forefront again."

"And how are we supposed to know when that piece of shit is gone? We can't just let her run around. She can fight now, you saw that."

"And she's also got a dozen resistance fighters and other Longcoats," Callan returned, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure we'll know it when it happens. She's tied us to her with that spell she cast. It's more than just locating her, isn't it? Don't you think so? We can _feel_ her, Della. We know our way around this maze of a castle now. I'm sure that she did something more than just have us know where to find her. We're connected to her. We'll be able to figure this one out."

"And if we can't?" Della asked, voice harsh as he looked down at her still form.

Callan fingered her hair and then looked up at Della. "Then she stays here. We can't kill her, but we can probably contain her."

"She's the magical one," Della reminded him.

"I'm sure the castle will help us," Callan said firmly. They could both feel a shiver along their spines at his words. "This place is old, and you can feel the magic in it. I'm sure if we asked nicely, it will help us."

Della sighed. "I can't believe we're going to ask a castle to help us."

"You have any better ideas?"

"No," Della admitted.

"Besides... Haven't you ever gotten that creepy kind of feeling in old houses? Especially those places left over from the Ancients? How do you know it's not because the magic made them alive somehow?"

"You've read way too many children's books as a child," Della returned, rolling to his feet. He threw Azkadellia's limp form over his shoulder. "First and foremost, we have to bring her somewhere safe while she sorts herself out."

"Back to her room, then?" Callan asked, shrugging. "Safe a place as any right now."

They tied her to the vanity chair, her head lolling on her chest. "This should keep her safe," Della said with a sigh, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How hard did you hit her?"

"Hard enough to knock her out so she wouldn't shoot you," Callan retorted. "Don't make me regret that."

Della snorted. "You'd miss me."

Callan nodded, and they lapsed into silence, waiting for Azkadellia to wake up. "You know a good number of knots," he said after a long moment, nodding at Azkadellia's form. "Tie girls up often? Kinky, Della, really kinky."

"Shut it," Della snapped, rolling his eyes. "Just remember you suggested the bed first."

"She would've been comfortable."

"Or freaked out by how much of a pervert you are."

Callan rolled his eyes. "She's gotta know that one... We're in a relationship, the three of us. Not exactly the norm, is it?"

"True enough," Della agreed slowly. "We've been avoiding what will happen when this is done."

"When the Ice Witch is dead, you mean?" Callan clarified. Della nodded. "I assume she's going to request that we stay."

"And if the Queen doesn't okay that? It's not exactly like putting in a transfer from the main department to a hub site."

"You worry too much, you know that?"

"It's a valid concern," Della returned as Azkadellia stirred slightly. "We can't ignore it."

Callan's jaw was tight. "We could. We'll work something out." He nodded at Azkadellia, whose head was starting to jerk slightly. "There? See? She agrees with me."

Della shook his head but let the matter drop. There was time enough to worry about it, and more pressing matters at hand. "Azkadellia?"

She looked up blearily, eyes unfocused. "Paul? Wha happen? My head hurts."

Della glared at Callan, who shrugged helplessly in response. "It looks like you might have a concussion, Delia."

"You're blurry."

"Sorry," Callan blurted. He sat down in front of Azkadellia. "How much do you remember?"

"Watching him hit you," she mumbled, looking up at Della. "'M sorry, Paul." There were tears in her eyes. "I couldn't stop him."

"I thought you wove him into you. How come you couldn't stop it?" Callan asked as Della hunkered down in front of them. It felt like Azkadellia, though there was no way to truly be sure.

"It felt like... like watching. Like the Witch." She blinked and frowned, then shook her head to clear it. That only made her feel even dizzier, and she groaned. "I can't feel my hands."

Neither man moved. "Must be from the concussion," Della told her finally. He held her head in his hands and looked into her eyes. "How are you feeling now, Delia?"

"My head hurts and I can't feel my hands." She looked from one to the other, concerned and sleepy looking. "Why?"

"We didn't want to take a chance on who might surface," Della replied truthfully.

Her gaze hardened. "I knew you couldn't be trusted."

Callan sighed. "There goes that theory."

Della sighed as well, letting go of her face. She eyed them both, a hard glint there. Della nodded away from her, and Callan rose to his feet and met him some distance away from her. "She's in there somewhere."

"I'm thinking she did whatever she did, but it didn't settle in. If that makes any sense whatsoever."

"It does, amazingly enough," Della replied. He turned at the sound of her sobbing. "I still don't know how we can trust her like this."

"We go with the flow," Callan replied, shrugging. "It's the only way to go right now."

"I don't know what I'm saying," Azkadellia sobbed when Callan returned to her side. Della hung back a bit, waiting. "They're not... separate? Not really. I can't explain it. I'm not... It's not easy. I've never done this before."

"I know, sweetheart," Callan murmured softly, kissing her forehead. "But until we're sure, you're stuck there."

Tears tracked down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, tell Paul I'm sorry."

"I will."

She wailed, pulling at the knots at her wrists and trying to buck at the chair. It sounded more like an angry wail, the sound of a caged animal. "Let me go!" she screeched. "Let me out!"

Both men sat there, sighing, watching over her. The chair had been surprisingly heavier than it looked, but that didn't mean she couldn't topple it over and potentially break something. Sometimes she cried, sometimes she screamed. Callan got up once, despite Della shaking his head, but Azkadellia spat at him. "Nope, still not Delia."

"This is stupid," Della hissed at him during a screaming bout. They were ignoring the filthy expletives she was shouting.

"I trust her. She'll get it under control."

"And if she can't?"

"She was okay in the beginning of the concussion..."

"We are _not_ going to risk head trauma!" Della hissed.

"I meant giving her wine or something. Or the witch's vapors." Callan smiled at Della. "Isn't that somewhat fitting?"

"That's not even funny," Della replied, shaking his head. Azkadellia had suddenly stopped screaming, and was whimpering in the chair. She sounded like a lost child, the way she had after her nightmares. "I'll check this time."

She looked at him balefully, tears in her eyes. "Is this a game to you?" she whispered brokenly.

"Never."

"How are you going to tell it's me?"

"We'll know," he told her with more confidence than he felt.

"What if I lose control of them? I thought I had it."

"By the sound of things, it's more like Zero is the only one difficult to control."

She bit her lip, uncertain. "I thought I had control of him, but he still scares me."

He cradled her cheek in his palm, and she leaned into his touch. It was Azkadellia or a very clever fake. "Can you unravel him? Take out the threads you put in?"

"That takes concentration," she murmured, almost apologetic. "And if he's trying so hard to take over, I can't concentrate enough to get him out. Right now he's tired, but so am I."

"What about the others? Rumor had it there are resistance fighters in there."

"And Longcoats that displeased the Witch and the Mystic Man and some others I can't keep track of," she agreed with a sigh. "But those are older, and sit still in the weave. It's just Zero."

"Because you're afraid of him?"

"He won't stay quiet," Azkadellia murmured. She turned her head as Callan came up alongside her. "I'm sorry, Benji."

"It was a good idea at the time," he told her, shrugging.

"Why does he scare you so much?" Callan asked, curious.

She turned sad eyes down toward her lap, and her bound hands behind her clenched into fists. "He has this image of me... He wants me to be Queen. He wants me to be this formidable presence the way I used to be, when I was the Sorceress. I was in control then, I didn't care about anyone else then. I didn't want anything more than centralized rule." Her voice petered out to a soft whisper. "What if I am what he thinks of me? What if there's even a little of that left?"

"Then we'll deal with that," Della said, voice confident. "Did you think we would run from that?"

She looked up with tears in her eyes. "No, but I don't want you hating me for it."

"Do you think we could?"

"Maybe," she murmured, shrugging helplessly. "Maybe not because of the magic, but if I was anything like the Sorceress..."

"You aren't," Callan interrupted.

"How do you _know?"_ she asked desperately. "How can you know if _I_ don't?"

"Same way we'll know when you've smacked Zero around enough to show him who's boss," Callan replied with a grin. He kissed the top of her forehead. "We know who you are." He kissed her temple and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth playfully. "Now, go pull out the threads that are making him vicious and let's go. You have a job to do, Delia."

"We'll be with you for as long as it takes," Della told her, hand still cradling her face tenderly. "We're not leaving."

She gave them both a watery smile. "Thank you."

"Just kick his ass again," Della said, leaning down to kiss her gently. "I don't like the idea of tying you up like this."

"True. To the bed is one thing..." Callan began.

Azkadellia gave a startled bit of laughter, eyes going wide. "You wouldn't..."

"If you asked me to," he said, licking her ear. "Iincentive for finishing this properly?"

She shut her eyes tight. "You're distracting."

She could hear his laughter recede into the background, could feel Della's retreat. Having this all happen shook her to the core. She had thought she had this under control. She had thought that everyone was tied down tight, that nothing had seeped through the fabric of who she was. If Zero had broken through, was still trying to take over from the inside out, who else could try? Aliana was too weak, and Azkadellia only had fragmetns of her anyway.

How could she ever control the Ice Witch?

Azkadellia tried to control her breathing, to keep herself from reacting and screaming in panic as she had been. They were patient, her tin men. They had waited this long for her to come back to them. They'd wait longer if they had to, until the end of the OZ if she needed that much time. She could feel the tears slipping from beneath her shut eyelids, her gloved fists clenched behind her. If her hands had been bare, she could have produced bloody welts in her palm. Or Zero could have tried to see if he could manipulate her magic. _If you won't aspire to greatness, I'll aspire for you,_ he had told her with cold clarity. She had only invited the demon inside. She had only given him the entirety of access that he had once craved. He had her undivided attention now, and she couldn't do anything but listen.

_You'll listen to me,_ he raged at her, battering at her sense of self. _You'll listen and you will be the Queen. I can't be by your side but I will be with you, no matter what you do!_

Head bowed, Azkadellia struggled to breathe evenly. No use screaming. She had tried that one already, and she listened in horror as he had shouted right back at her with her own mouth.

"Why won't you release me?" she asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't what you wanted."

_It can be,_ he whispered across her mind, his voice like poison. She shivered. _I can make you love the power. I can make you see how perfect you were before they tore you down, before they threw you to tin men. I would have done everything for you,_ Zero told her, voice dripping acid. _You could have been great and powerful, the ruler of all the OZ. You gave it all up for them, and they don't even deserve it. They don't deserve your sacrifice._

"Yes, they do," she murmured. _They deserve all of me,_ she thought, thinking of her tin men. _They deserve more than waiting for me indefinitely like this._

He laughed at her, the tone bitter and caustic. He wanted to hurt her, wanted to make her regret killing him. He would have been her servant, the one to move in shadows to exert her will. Zero hated that she had neatly removed this goal. He lunged, sloppier than he had earlier due to his exhaustion. He kept trying to break the weave, kept trying to reform it in his own image. If he couldn't rule as advisor to her Queen, he would take over her entire body and rule as Queen.

Azkadellia took the opportunity to mentally sidestep his move. She could then clearly see where he had started to unravel the knots and whorls she had woven into her larger pattern, trying to reshape it. She reached out and pulled at the thread, giving it a hard yank.

The move destabilized Zero, and he tumbled back into the larger landscape of her soul. It was like removing an arm and leg, and he couldn't push himself back up. _You need me,_ he told her, sure of himself. _You can't be great without me._

Paul was right, Azkadellia thought, thinking of Della's words before she had started to meditate. _You were more trouble than you were worth keeping. I shouldn't have felt guilty about killing you._

If you don't, he thought, smug, _then you're no better than I am._

Azkadellia nodded slowly. There was truth in that. _I think I can learn to live with that._

She gave another hard yank, unraveling the rest of the weaving she had done. Zero pulled free, revealing frayed edges of thread where she had stitched him in. She looked at the roiling mass of thread in front of her, and let it go with a sigh.

Della and Callan saw it as a puff of smoke rising up and out of her mouth, wafting into the air. It hovered over her head, looking rather like an angry gray cloud, then it dissipated into nothingness. Azkadellia collapsed heavily into the chair, barely breathing. Della undid the complicated knots easily enough, and Callan laid her out flat on the floor. Her complexion was ashen, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths.

"So who won?" Callan asked, concerned. "Are we letting that monster free?"

A dissonant feeling reverberated through their spines. "I think that was the castle answering your question," Della remarked wryly. "I guess it can communicate with us after all."

"Oh, good. I had a feeling learning to speak castle was going to be complicated. I'm glad it's not."

That feeling in their spines was almost amused now. Della scooped Azkadellia into his arms and laid her gently back in bed. "She must need rest." He stroked her face gently. "Funny how this magic stuff works." He looked up at Callan. "I'd almost prefer bullets and swords to this. I can at least fight against that."

"You don't think we'll be helpful against the Ice Witch?"

He shrugged, but his sour expression didn't change. "I'd said that a body can be hurt. But that depends on whether or not we get close enough, isn't it? What if we can't, and it's down to Delia's magic?"

"Just like she was afraid of."

"Yes. And something like this would only shake her confidence. She would doubt herself, and that's when it would fall apart."

Callan sat down on the bed beside Azkadellia and took one of her limp hands in his. "Then we make sure she doesn't think she failed. We make sure she realizes how powerful she really is."

Della sat down opposite Callan and took her other hand in his. He could be strong for her. He could support her. He could encourage her. And if it ever came down to that, he could die for her. He knew Callan felt the same, and that Azkadellia would have been horrified to know such a thing. She didn't want either of them hurt, and would willingly rip herself to shreds to keep them safe. But as he'd seen already, she was only confident in herself if she had their support and trust. Any whisper that it might be gone and she crumbled to pieces, broken down and ground to dust. She needed them, just not in the way they had all initially thought.

***  
***


	27. Escaping The Sanctuary

"Please tell me you'll help me do something. Like kill the Queen?" DG asked hopefully.

Ine'che made a hissing noise. "Don't even speak the words! Not even in jest! If there are any spells to follow you, the words can be twisted to prove you a traitor to the crown. Then you would share the same fate as the Unseelie court."

Cain simply looked unhappy when she turned her eyes to him. "What? I've already had the effects of one spell put on me. Do you really think I want to find out what else she could possibly do to us? Or what she might do to the OZ as revenge?" He crossed his arms and sighed. "I know why you're so angry. But what can we do? There's three of us against however many people she has in her army. And I don't have magic, so I can't possibly count."

"You count!" DG insisted. "You always count!"

"We haven't an army," Ine'che said softly.

"Why are you giving up?" she spluttered, shocked. "I can't believe you'd just let this go on. It's not... You'd never allow this, right? Please say you wouldn't."

Cain shook his head. "If this was a place I knew, by all means we could march in there and demand that things are set to rights."

"We have no backing," Ine'che interrupted. "There is no other law but hers here. There is no other will but hers."

"This is a battle we'd lose before it even begins," Cain said heavily. "I don't like it, but that's the truth. If we do something, it'll have to be something planned far in advance."

"So we go back home and then come back to wage war?" DG asked, incredulous. "What?"

Ine'che shrugged as Cain shook his head. "If you feel strongly enough about this, that would be useful. Whatever resources you could build in the meantime..."

"How are we even supposed to get back? It was an accident we got here the first time."

DG could feel the locket Ozma had given her. It was a weight around her neck, cold and heavy against her skin. She slowly drew it out from under her shirt. "I have this. There's power in this, Ozma said."

"Put that away!" Ine'che hissed suddenly. "Don't show that! Let her think the power is yours, not something separate to steal."

DG let the locket drop back beneath her shirt as the hazy form of the ghostly fairy detached herself from the wall. DG still hadn't gotten a name out of her, but had figured the creature for female at this point. "Yes?"

_they listen now as they always have but it has been altered as i have altered many things,_ the ghost began slowly. _this war you speak of will not be as strongly opposed as you fear it would be on your return_

Ine'che stilled as Cain frowned at the ghost. "Are you serious?" Cain asked. "So it's not impossible, then?"

_unrest exists in paradise,_ the ghost affirmed. She coiled close to DG, and it felt like the fall of hair over her shoulder. _if you leave this place i wish to follow on your heels, my lady_

this realm ceases to be sanctuary for those of my ilk, and my lady the queen believes me to be dead and consumed

"So she'd finish you off for real, then?" DG asked, nose wrinkling in digust. "Horrible."

_i must certainly agree,_ the ghost replied wryly. _hence the request_

DG nodded. "And you said there's more of you?"

_the shadowlands exist between the planes, in the stillness and silence between worlds_

DG froze and locked eyes with Cain. "You remember the prophecy, then?" she asked him, voice quiet. "Maybe this is what I've always been meant to do."

"Prophecy?" Ine'che asked, concerned. "Those are always tricky to interpret."

"We always thought it was why my sister killed me," DG murmured. "But now I wonder if maybe everyone got it wrong."

"The Witch was interested in personal power and ruling the OZ," Cain told DG firmly. "She didn't care what happened to rest of us."

"The prophecy?" Ine'che prompted, brows knit in throught.

"The majestic queen of the OZ, had two lovely daughters she. One to darkness, she be drawn. And one to light, she be shown. Double eclipse, it is foreseen, light meets dark in the stillness between. But only one, and one alone, shall hold the emerald and take the throne."

Ine'che shook her head, a sad smile on her face. "My mate told me of this rhyme long before his final death." She looked at DG and shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps it is, but it is also the spell used to contain the Unseelie leaders within their elemental prisons."

"Water prison, you said," Cain remembered, latching onto the wyvern. "You said Fenaqua meant water prison. And that was where the Witch was."

"So what was the rhyme supposed to be?" DG asked.

"Conditions for release," Ine'che replied. "Queen Lurlaine's cousins opposed her rule on many grounds, not the least being her treatment of Ozma. No details were released at large, and certainly nothing like the tale you've told."

"Her cousins. The blood you mentioned?"

Ine'che nodded sadly. "There were two sisters born to Titania and Oberon. When the worlds were first shifting and collapsing, Oberon gave his life to stabilize them. And they did for a time, but then Titania shed her blood to bind the remainder. There were two daughters to rule our land, then, Lurlaine and her younger sister Elaine. But Elaine visited other lands, other worlds. She found the land of Oz during her travels, grew enchanted with it. She married the King of Oz and died when birthing Ozma."

Everyone looked at Ine'che when she fell silent. "Well? What next?"

"That's all that's known," Ine'che said helplessly. "You have to understand... I wasn't involved in the war directly. And I hid for centuries rather than face the fact I'm the last of my kind. I don't _know_ a lot. I can guess that Aliana and Cliara discovered Lurlaine's trachery against blood. I can guess that they formed the Unseelie Court to try to unseat Lurlaine. It's obvious that they failed and were exiled. The child doesn't even remember having aunts other than Lurlaine, any other family."

"So they became the witches of the OZ?" DG asked, curious.

"Perhaps they did," Ine'che replied, shrugging. "A few millennia can change people."

Cain sighed. "Either way, we're still stuck here until the Queen decides to let us go."

The ghost tightened her grip on DG and made a soft hissing noise. All three fell silent, and looked toward the suite's main entrance. Within moments, there was a knock at the door. It was a commanding knock, and was swiftly followed by the door opening.

The footman opening the door quickly bowed and got out of the way. Lurlaine and Ozma swept into the room. Ozma was still in the frilly white gown she had been wearing when she left DG, an absent smile on her face. Lurlaine glowered at them, displeasure radiating from every pore of her being.

"You're going to go home, Dorothy," Ozma said, happily bouncing on her toes. She skipped forward and gave each of them a swift hug. Midnight skittered away from her, disturbed, and she didn't seem to notice the move.

"So kind of you," Cain said stiffly, nodding at Lurlaine. Ine'che inclined her head regally, but didn't say a word.

DG gave Lurlaine a grimace of a smile. She couldn't stomach even looking at the woman, and kept her eyes focused on the jeweled pin in Lurlaine's hair that helped to keep her crown balanced on her head. "Ozma is more than welcome to travel with us and explore Oz. I insist on returning the hospitality."

Lurlaine's eyes narrowed at DG, but she didn't say anything in reply.

"Come on, Ozma. It'll be fun," DG said brightly, studiously ignoring Lurlaine to focus on Ozma. "We'll travel all over the OZ together for a while."

Ozma merely laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, I couldn't, Dorothy. I've a place here, a home here." She hugged DG tightly. "But thank you. Maybe I will visit at some point. And there's always mirrors. If the Breakers stop, I can go to the Hall of Mirrors and talk with you that way."

DG squeezed Ozma, not ready to let her go just yet. "I'll miss you," DG whispered hoarsely. "Are you sure?"

"That's sweet," Ozma replied with an absent smile, pulling back. "I'm sure. I'm really sure. This is my home. This is where I'm supposed to be." She was parroting someone else's words, likely, and DG could almost hear _Auntie Lurlaine said so,_ at the end of her words.

With a sneer, Lurlaine began to craft a portal. DG could see the weave of it, the pattern in the folds of magic before it started to glow. She could vaguely recognize it, something in it that made her heart twist with fear and pain and longing all at once.

As the patterns solidified into a portal, DG remembered. The Gray Gale.

The Gale family mausoleum was a soft place, she realized suddenly. Travel storms created soft places between worlds, and really skilled Practitioners could direct the flow of magic in a travel storm to pinpoint the precise place and time the storms had to exist for travel between worlds. Soft places were simply malleable areas in the flow of time and space, places where magic held greater dominion than normal. Still, only really skilled Practitioners could direct the flow of a soft place. Anyone else would simply fall into it and be directed at random.

DG could see the pale outline of the forest, the dim faraway cast of Central City on the forest's horizon. She remembered the last time she had been there, encased in an emerald sarcophagus, screaming. She remembered the Witch gloating through Azkadellia's eyes, that mouth twisted into a hateful smile rather like Lurlaine's.

She was going to find a way to come back and tear it off Lurlaine's face if it was the last thing she ever did as Queen of the OZ.

Cain could feel something shift inside of DG then, though he couldn't remark on it in front of Ozma and Lurlaine. Something in her hardened and became directed. It was a subtle shift, something he'd seen before in tin man cadets as they moved through the ranks of training. Some more of her idealistic innocence had just burned away, leaving a rough diamond in its wake.

Cain didn't think Lurlaine knew what she had done to DG, and couldn't contain the slow smile that formed on his face. Queens always had to consider the nobility and outlying royal houses in their dealings. Queens always had to consider the good of their country, the future of their people and the stability of their rule. Lurlaine had grown overconfident and self assured without any direct opposition. She had ruled without question for thousands of years, doing as she pleased with her people too afraid of her to protest. But rulers that led through fear were toppled eventually. Enough good people would band together and fight, would draw enough light to a cause to overthrow oppressors.

It had just happened to the Sorceress, and would undoubtedly happen to Lurlaine.

"I'll visit you through mirrors," Ozma promised, nodding. "As soon as it's safe, just like I did with the first Dorothy. You'll see."

DG clasped Ozma's hands as she nodded for Ine'che to go through the portal first. "If you ever change your mind... You have a safe place to visit with me," DG whispered urgently, hoping that it didn't seem too outlandish to Lurlaine. She didn't want this to backfire and get Ozma punished for her intervention.

Ozma beamed and waved at them. "Of course, of course." She waved as Cain went through the portal, his eyes locking to DG's. _Don't do anything stupid,_ he seemed to tell her. "I'll miss you, too. It was lovely traveling together most of the time."

DG flushed a bit. "Sorry I wasn't nicer in the beginning."

"It was your memory," Ozma replied dismissively. "I suppose I'd be cranky, too, if I thought I should have all my memories in place. But since I don't, it's all right. I'm used to it. Now, shoo, you. Get back home and see your mother and sister. Enjoy your time in Oz."

DG thought about looking back as she stepped through the portal, but decided not to. She didn't think she could stomach seeing Lurlaine's smug expression or possessive hand on Ozma's shoulder.

The portal wove shut behind DG. There was no deciding factor in determining it closed or open, but it just suddenly seemed to be gone. They had escaped the Mirror Zone and the Dawn Sanctuary and were now back in the OZ. DG's return felt hollow and empty.

Ine'che was looking around her, hiding her wonder fairly well. They were in an entirely different realm than the one she had grown up and hidden away in. Everything was new, even if it was now tarnished in DG's eyes. She hadn't fought the way she wanted to, hadn't done anything to help get Ozma out of her situation. How had she been a good friend in that case? Or hell, if not a good friend than at least a human being. How could she possibly expect to be a good Queen? How did anyone expect her to simply do nothing?

DG didn't like herself too much for running away. There had to have been a better way.

"This is the OZ," Cain was telling Ine'che. "We're home."

Yes, it was the OZ. It was home. DG felt hollow, a shell of who she used to be. She wasn't the girl from Kansas any longer, struggling to get to her dead end waitressing job on time and pass her community college classes. She wasn't some girl pretending that she didn't care about fitting in. She wasn't some random stranger to the realm. She wasn't an imposter pretending to care about the rest of the people in this world.

It was like having a cherished belief crumble to dust beneath her feet. It was like being torn to pieces and scattered on the wind.

Ine'che reverted to her wyvern form and reveled in the feel of the twin suns beating down on her wings. She flew them to Central City, landing in the central courtyard of the palace. The servants were all nervous and not sure how to proceed. DG found the formalities falling into place without a second thought as she demanded to see her mother and Azkadellia. They needed a magical army, and they needed it badly.

The Queen was obviously relieved to see DG again, and she felt that pang of guilt. She had been selfish, running in her blind panic. What she had thought was only five hours had turned out to be five days. How much time had they lost now?"

"Thank the suns, you've returned safely," the Queen murmured, sweeping DG into a tight hug.

DG returned it, somewhat stiffly. "How long was I gone?" she asked, voice cracking. Her throat was dry, and it burned in that way that told her she was trying not to cry.

"Almost three weeks," the Queen murmured, taking her face in her hands. "It was several days before the tin man was sent out, and then another day or so after that when Azkadellia felt the Breakers follow her magic back to her." She smiled, near tears. "But you're back, DG. You're back. You'll stay, won't you?"

DG smiled back, blinking back tears. "Someone has to be princess," she replied, sniffling. "Where's Az? I have a question about magic..."

"She had to go north," the Queen murmured. "She set out over a week ago. Almost two weeks now. The Breakers, you know."

"No, I don't know," DG frowned.

"It's an old tale. I never believed it to be true... But then, the prophecy was just a story, too," the Queen murmured. "She went north to confront the Ice Witch. I hadn't heard from her since then, but we've just received word that the Northern Outpost was burned down by insurrectionists." She looked at Cain with a frown. "There are Longcoats out there that call for the Sorceress to return to rule. And Azkadellia is out there with your friends."

Cain frowned. "Who else is with her?"

The Queen bristled, and finally noticed Ine'che standing there beside Cain. "Just the two of them... Who's this?"

"This is Princess Ybred Ine'che, the last of the wyverns of the Mirror Zone," DG replied, introducing Ine'che. "She helped us get home. And as soon as we're able, I'm sure she'll help us get back there."

The Queen paled. "What? But you just got back!"

"I made a promise," DG replied firmly. "She might not be a great friend, but she's in trouble and I can't just leave and pretend it never happened. So we have to get an army and go back to overthrow Queen Lurlaine."

The Queen blinked at DG's matter of fact tone. It made sense for Queen Lurlaine to be real as well as all the other stories, but none of the tales about Queen Lurlaine were any good. Any opposition tended to die grisly deaths. "I forbid it!"

"I wasn't asking permission," DG replied. "I'm just letting you know so you won't worry."

The journey tempered DG, the Queen noted. She had plans and ambition after all, and even moved with more self assurance than she had before she had disappeared. "We'll have to discuss this later," the Queen told her, nodding. "For now, you've only just come home."

"Well, if Az is headed north, then I'll have to head there as well."

"Whatever for?" the Queen gasped.

Ine'che had been frowning through the entire exchange. "Cliara had been able to use ice."

"And Aliana was water, I'll bet," Cain grumbled. He shook his head. "This isn't going to be easy, DG. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Worthy things never are," DG said grimly.

The Queen watched the way DG stared at Cain, the way he seemed to flinch in response. She didn't know what was going on between them, but knew it couldn't possibly be appropriate. It wasn't proper for her, and certainly wouldn't bode well for the Gale line at large. At least Ahamo had the good sense to stay out of OZ politics so that the people wouldn't remember that he had no magic to speak of. Royals always had magic, and for him to be without it was a scandal in the making. His art and technology had dazzled so many that no one thought about actual magic at the wedding and afterward. And then Azkadellia had come as the Sorceress, and there had been no time to do anything else but save DG as soon as the castle had let her know something was wrong in DG's room.

She tried not to be bitter, but often failed. Too much had gone wrong so soon, and too much had happened to restart again. She didn't want the same kind of failing for her daughter.

"You can't go north," the Queen said firmly. "You've only just returned. You have to stay and learn about your kingdom."

"And if we don't go north, there's no kingdom worth saving, right?" DG retorted, almost angrily. "And if I don't take care of Lurlaine and save Ozma, then my word isn't worth anything. So I have to do this if I'm going to be any kind of Queen for this country."

The Queen could almost respect the fire in DG at her words, the determination. But the mother in her quailed. She had only just gotten DG back when she ran off. And then she disappeared for nearly three weeks, and now DG had only just returned. She was threatening to leave again. How was the Queen possibly supposed to cope with that?

"DG, you are my daughter. You need to stay," the Queen said instead. She tried not to sound desperate, but there was no real way to hide it.

DG dropped a kiss onto the Queen's cheek. "I know you're my mother," she began slowly, almost sadly. "I know you mean well. I know you care about me and you're worried about what I plan on doing. But if I don't do it, I'd never respect myself again. No one else would either, if they knew I just ran away again. I wouldn't be a worthy Queen, and no one would listen to me. And I wouldn't blame them for it. So I have to go."

The Queen looked between the three people standing in front of her, the mobat clinging to Cain and the wisp of a shadow behind DG's hair. She didn't recognize them. Oh, Cain and DG looked the same as they had before DG had disappeared and Ine'che was a stranger. But the essence of them had changed, and they no longer fit the mold of what she expected from them. Whatever journey DG had undertaken to return to the OZ had changed her, hopefully for the better. The Queen could only hope that DG would return sooner rather than later.

"Come back safely," the Queen whispered, squeezing DG's hands almost painfully. "I would give anything to be in your place, to do this for you."

DG smiled wanly, feeling a warmth in her hands. "I know you would. We'll be safe."

Before the Queen said anything else, DG turned around and faced Ine'che. "Would you be willing to help me out a bit more before you settle in?"

Ine'che looked at DG wryly, shaking her head. "There is no settling with a Dorothy Gale. There is simply a journey, a series of journeys, and then the righting of the innumerable wrongs that were left in place before she arrived. I know the old tales, Princess. I had a feeling about what I was getting into when I left my cavern."

Cain raised his hands helplessly when DG turned to him. "You'll always have my support."

The Queen narrowed her eyes at him, but he was studiously not looking at her. He was honorable enough for DG, but he had no title, no lands, no nobility. He wasn't any kind of suitable longterm prospect for DG socially. He wasn't a proper consort for the future Queen of the OZ. She would have to do something about that when they returned.

DG gave the Queen a tight hug and quick kiss. "We'll go meet up with Az and figure out this Ice Witch thing. And then go take care of Lurlaine. We'll be back as soon as we can."

The Queen could only watch as they left her again, her lavender eyes filling with tears. She wrapped her arms around herself. Ahamo wasn't even in the palace. She had sent him away when DG first disappeared on some kind of diplomatic mission with one of the outlying principalities. She drove everyone away sooner or later, didn't she? It was for the good of the OZ, she always said, but it always left her alone and feeling empty in the end.

The Queen always did her duty. It was just cold comfort and a silent palace in its wake.

***  
***


	28. The Northern Ice Floe

Callan snorted himself awake. Apparently, he had dozed off beside Azkadellia, who no longer looked like death warmed over. Now she was just too pale and tired looking, as if she still needed another day's worth of sleep. Della was asleep, having dozed off as well. Callan was just awake enough that he couldn't fall back asleep, and his stomach rumbled. Considering the castle had been deserted and buried under ice and snow, the likelihood of any edible food was closer to nil. The only source of anything remotely like food was very asleep. Unless he woke her up, and he had every intention of doing it _nicely._

Callan shifted himself slightly and scooted down on the bed. His shifting weight jostled Della awake, and the other man rubbed at his eyes sleepily. Callan was lifting the skirt of Azkadellia's dress over her hips when Della snapped to attention. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I plan on waking her up," Callan said with a smile.

Della rolled his eyes. "She's asleep. And just did something magical that we don't understand. For all we know she _isn't_ herself and won't appreciate it."

"Well, this will help her find her way back to us, then." Callan smirked at Della. "What? Jealous you didn't think of it first?"

With a groan, Della watched as Callan brought his lips to her center. He lowered his mouth to her, tasting her through the thin silk covering her. Azkadellia didn't move as he lowered the scrap of fabric down and tossed it aside. He traced her folds with his tongue, then found her clit. He licked it until it was swollen with need and slick with her juices. While she didn't stir, she made a soft noise as he sucked on her clit. Azkadellia's hips tilted slightly, giving him better access to her sex. She wasn't awake, barely even stirring, but some part of her registered what he was doing in her sleep. She moaned when he slid a finger inside her, feeling her from the inside, lips and tongue still around her clit.

Della slid a hand across Azkadellia's chest, stroking her breasts through the dress. Her cheeks carried a pink flush, and her breathing was deeper now. He slid his hand beneath the bodice and caressed the expanse of skin above her corset. He rolled his fingers around her nipple and pulled the bodice down to expose the other breast with his other hand. Della took it into his mouth, gently sucking on it and laving the nipple with his tongue. She trembled beneath his mouth, and he sucked a little harder.

Azkadellia woke as she came, writhing beneath their mouths. She was groggy and didn't understand why they were in a bed or why she was still fully dressed. Callan's fingers were inside her and his mouth was between her legs as he sucked on her clit. Della was sucking on a breast and teasing the other, and Azkadellia could only ride the waves of pleasure as she came again, crying out from the force of it.

Callan looked up at Della, then back down at Azkadellia. "Ready to play, then?"

Azkadellia stretched languidly. "Hm? I thought we were heading north?"

"We could spend a bit of time together. You know, relax after what happened," Callan said.

"You _are_ yourself, aren't you?" Della asked, concerned.

"I think so," Azkadellia murmured, frowning. "It's like I'm all ragged in places, but I think I'm myself again."

Callan pressed a kiss to her sex. "Oh, good. I wouldn't want to think I'm having sex with some random Longcoat the Sorceress didn't like very much."

Azkadellia laughed while Della rolled his eyes. He kissed her mouth, tongue sliding into her mouth as Callan rearranged his clothing. He slid into her and grasped her hips tightly. He rolled over onto his back, bringing her with him so that she straddled his waist. Azkadellia giggled a bit and settled in on top of him. She settled into the rhythm he set, rocking against him. Delicious shivers rolled through her, and she moaned in pleasure.

Della knelt on the bed behind her after taking a jar of her moisturizing cream. He slicked her backside, one finger at first, then two. She jerked in surprise at the contact. Della nuzzled her neck, licking the pulse point. "Just me," he murmured against her skin. "Relax."

"Okay. Still not used to that."

He laughed a little as he slicked his cock with the cream. "It's all right," he murmured as he pushed inside of her, gritting his teeth to be sure he didn't simply surge inside of her. "We're going slow, remember?" He slid one hand forward, around her hip and down to touch her clit. Her breath hissed inward at the contact, and Callan jerked as her body clenched. "Sh," he murmured, moving shallowly within her. "Relax."

Azkadellia continued to rock against Callan, who reached up to palm her breasts through her dress. His commentary washed over her, and she closed her eyes as she arched her back. Della made shallow thrusts inside of her ass in counterpoint to her rocks against Callan, his finger slick over her sensitive clit. Her breaths were shallow, her mewls soft and growing more frenzied by the moment. Callan tilted his hips up, making his thrusts deeper into Azkadellia when she sank down over him. She let out a desperate groan, her hands tightening over his shoulders almost painfully. He could feel her body begin to tighten around his cock, and he smiled up at her. "Really close, Delia," he murmured, fingers twisting her nipples lightly.

She made a desperate mewling sound as she came, milking his cock. Callan groaned as he came inside of her, hips jerking erratically. Della's breath hissed inward at the sensation, but he wasn't quite close enough to coming yet. When Callan pulled out, he did as well and pushed Azkadellia down to all fours. She was face to face with Callan, who laughed and kissed her soundly. Della slid into her from behind, and she moaned deliciously at the sensation. Della grasped her hips for balance and thrust into her. Azkadellia moaned, burying her face into the crook of Callan's neck as she panted. Callan threaded his fingers through hers, holding her steady as Della thrust into her. She bobbed and swayed beneath Della, drowning in the sensation. He came just before she did, but thrust a few more times until she came yet again.

The three of them were tangled in a heap of limbs and mouths and fractured breaths when Callan's stomach rumbled again. "You and food," Azkadellia said with a laugh.

"And sex," he returned with a lazy grin, stroking her hair. "Don't forget the sex."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," she returned, leaning over to kiss him. "All right. Another meal and then we're off to the north."

Her conjuring was much better now, and it was easier for her to create whatever it was that she wanted. Once they had all eaten, Della pointed to the discarded winter gear they had gotten from the Northern Outpost. "Time to suit up and head out."

"We don't need those," Azkadellia said, indicating the discarded winter uniforms. "I'll get us there in no time, and the wind won't cut through the bubble."

"Maybe so," Della agreed, picking up the uniforms. "But we still have to leave it sometime, and I'm not willing to let any of us risk hypothermia or frostbite when it could have been avoided."

"That's our Della," Callan said, taking his uniform. "Practical to the last."

Azkadellia had to agree with the logic, but finished weaving her bubble first. It was large enough for the three of them to stand up in comfortably, and should travel fairly quickly. She let them buckle her into the winter gear, trying not to think of the disaster it had been the last time they had tried such a thing. _I got rid of him, didn't I?_ she told herself firmly. _I'm sure he's all gone._

Well, she hoped. She wasn't about to go searching for his presence if she didn't feel it.

It seemed as though they were in the Winter Palace in one instant and then at the Northern Ice Floes the next. While it wasn't obvious from the outside, within the ice was an extensive cavern network. Azkadellia couldn't get her bubble inside of it, so it was just as well that Della was always over prepared for things. The bubble deposited them at the edge of the ice floe, where Azkadellia felt the magic barriers were the thinnest. Somewhere inside the barriers, Cliara seethed and roiled with her hatred. The Breakers were meant to shatter these barriers, but were not exactly intelligent servants. So they shattered whatever barrier they could find, including the ones between worlds.

"All right. Della, it's official. You have all the brains of this group," Callan said, feeling the arctic winds whip past their faces.

Azkadellia put her gloved hands against the wall of the floe ahead of them. She could feel the press of magic beneath her hands, just under a sheet of ordinary ice. The ward was thin, and she could possibly unweave a section of it that would allow them to pass through single file. Making an opening much larger than that would take much more time in the cold than they could probably tolerate.

They filed in through the opening Azkadellia created; the ice covering had fallen away easily once there was nothing for it to rest upon. They were quiet, their footsteps echoing down the cavernous hallway she had made.

The entire area felt like condensed magic. She was wading through it, and the air was thick and cloying. Decaying magic carried an odd perfurme to it, one that was difficult to describe. It was like the scent of dried flowers crumbled to dust and stuck to abandoned cobwebs. Azkadellia could tell that Della and Callan could feel _something_ around them, because every once in a while they would push at the empty air as if something was there. She resisted the urge to tell them it was magic; they found the idea that they could sense magic a little disconcerting as it was.

She knew Cliara was here, and could almost feel her presence. It was rather like the effect a fly had on a spiderweb. Somewhere on the spider's web the fly was trapped, and it sent a ripple throughout the entire web.

Azkadellia just hoped that Cliara was the fly and not the spider.

***

Ine'che sighted the Northern Ice Floe in the distance. Her wyvern sight was much sharper than the humans' sight, and they were unused to the cold winds at such latitudes. They huddled on her back, faces pressed against her scales, trying to keep warm. With her rapid speed, even tropical climates would have seemed frigid.

"Hang on!" she rumbled, pitching herself forward even faster. There was a discoloration in the ice that she was aiming for; there was likely a cave of some sort inside of it. She could try to dredge up a good enough fire with her breath if there was something dry to burn. That would probably help the humans to warm up a bit and would allow them to get their bearings. Ine'che was new to this land, and all of her knowledge likely didn't apply in a place like this. Still, the feel of magic was the same in a land like this, and there was the definite feel of magic entwined all about the Northern Ice Floe.

Ine'che landed on a flat jut of ice near the discoloration she had seen. It turned out to be a narrow hole in the ice, as tall as a man and just wide enough for one to pass single file into the interior of the ice floe. She could feel the magic in the ice floe more strongly now that she stood on it; the floe was almost completely made of magic, with thick layers of ice on top of it. She changed shape as DG and Cain ran into the hole to get out of the freezing winds whipping past them. She strode into the cave, not feeling the cold as keenly as the humans did. For all that she looked human in shape once she shifted, she still had her scaly hide to protect her from the elements. Fierce cold and terrifying heat did little to make her uncomfortable. She had her own internal fires to keep her warm if need be.

"This whole place is magic," DG said in awe, feeling the slick ice walls around them. "This was taken down recently," she murmured, looking at Cain and Ine'che. "Oh, here." She handed over the dress she had saved for Ine'che to change into. Once Ine'che was dressed, she headed down the hallway, following the rough path etched into the ice.

"You think Azkadellia is here?" Cain asked, concerned.

"Well, this was where she was headed. She's supposed to be taking care of the Ice Witch."

Ine'che felt the walls around them, smooth spells unraveled just so. "A Practitioner did this," Ine'che murmured. "Someone skilled in magical arts," she clarified at Cain's blank look.

"So that would be Azkadellia," Cain murmured, looking around at the smooth ice walls.

"She did know more magic than me," DG told him, shrugging when she didn't know what else to say. She still felt like Azkadellia was more of a stranger than a sister. "I suppose it's a better title than Sorceress."

They continued on in silence, moving quickly. Ine'che could see three figures ahead making fairly slow progress through the ice. They would catch up in no time if the humans ran. "I see three ahead of us."

"You think it's Az?" DG asked, hopeful.

"Who else would it be?" Cain asked. "She was with two tin men, after all."

They hurried forward, and the shapes Ine'che had seen became visible to the two humans. Another few moments and it became clear that it was Azkadellia and the two tin men in winter gear. "Azkadellia!" DG called out. Cain and Ine'che immediately tried to shush her, but the three ahead turned as one. Azkadellia was in the center of their little group, hands open and infused with light. She had certainly been the one to take apart the barriers in the ice floe.

DG ran forward and grabbed Azkadellia in a bear hug. It helped that she felt warm, too. "Az! I have so much to tell you! I'm so sorry I worried you. I didn't know I was going to be gone so long, I really didn't mean to..."

Azkadellia only laughed, which was an utterly foreign sound to DG's ears. "It's all right, Deeg, I believe you. Travel storm magic is very complicated." She smiled fondly as DG pulled back to stare at her in disbelief. "And I have something of yours I really need to give back."

"Really? What?"

"You."

DG stared in confusion as Azkadellia opened her mouth and a fine mist came out of it. As it coalesced, DG suddenly realized it resembled the mist that Azkadellia had sucked out of the Magic Man while they were in prison, and she gasped in shock.

At the indrawn breath, the tendrils of mist dove into DG's mouth. It felt like they flew down into her lungs and from there spread outward, filling the empty spaces within her that she hadn't realized had been there.

"Cliara is here," Azkadellia told the group as if nothing untoward had just happened. Callan and Della didn't seem to be very surprised by the pronouncement. "The cell is somewhere in the floe. I haven't figured out where yet."

"You know who Cliara is?" DG asked, surprised.

"Of course," Azkadellia replied. "She's Aliana's sister."

Ine'che frowned. "So this _was_ the prison world for the Unseelie Court," she mused. "This is where Lurlaine sent them."

Azkadellia stared at Ine'che. "You're a wyvern."

"Yes," she replied, nonplused. Even Lurlaine hadn't known that.

"I can see it in your eyes," Azkadellia said softly. "And Aliana knew a few before her exile. Or'anth and Bliath."

"Bliath was my cousin," Ine'che replied. "One of the first to be killed in Lurlaine's war."

Azkadellia looked upset. "They had been good friends."

"They never would have rebelled otherwise."

Cain had stood near Callan and Dell during this exchange. "I'm sorry I got you two roped into this mess."

"I'm not," Callan replied, shrugging.

"The Captain will, when we don't return," Della added.

"What do you mean?"

"She wants to keep us," Callan replied. "And we want to stay."

"You aren't pets," Cain said, startled. "She can't just keep you like one."

This had fallen into a lull in the other conversation. Azkadellia colored, but stood her ground. "No, they're not like pets at all. But I'd like them to stay with me."

DG looked between the three of them and couldn't help but grin when she realized what that meant. "I guess we're both into tin men, then?"

The three tin men stared at her, then at each other in sudden understanding. "Oh," Cain murmured, surprised.

DG shook her head at Azkadellia. "But two? How do you manage that?"

"Very carefully," Azkadellia returned with a wry smile. DG didn't understand Callan's snicker but let it go.

Ine'che merely shook her head. "Humans always have to make things so complicated. You are mates or not. This system with classes and such hinders your choice."

"No kidding," DG agreed heartily. "But weren't you a Princess, Ozma said?"

"The royal clans are matrilinear," Ine'che replied, "much like your Gale line. There was no added difficulty of class or profession. My mate hadn't been of a noble's clan." She stopped short abruptly, and DG clasped her hand tightly out of sympathy. Even Midnight could feel the wyvern's pain and passed from DG's shoulder to Ine'che's to offer support. "The pain is dull," Ine'che murmured, shaking her head, "but I sometimes surprise myself."

"Cliara has to be neutralized," Azkadellia told them after a moment. "The Breakers are her servants, and they'll destroy everything to get her out."

"You mean kill her?"

"Not if she agrees to stop," Azkadellia replied, shrugging. "I really don't want to kill anyone." Her voice was so lost and melancholic that the others believed her.

"Do you know where she is?" DG asked, almost hopeful it would be easy now that they were all together and searching for her. "Once we're done here, I really need your help. I need to go back and do something about Lurlaine."

But Azkadellia shook her head. "There's so much magic in here, and it's a maze. I can't tell."

"We haven't gone that far," Della told the others. "I've marked the walls as we went along. Maybe if we split up, we'd cover more territory and find her faster."

Azkadellia, Della and Callan went off in one direction. DG, Cain and Ine'che went off in another. "So they're all together," Cain murmured, trying to fully comprehend the concept. "Huh."

"I guess there's something about tin men," DG joked.

"And something about Gale girls that appeals to them," Cain returned.

Ine'che rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. Everyone's mated to their satisfaction. Can we go find the Ice Witch now?" she asked, voice bitter and sharp.

Chagrined, DG nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Ine'che returned automatically. "Don't take it as a rebuke."

But they both did, and their jokes stopped accordingly.

Cain marked their path as they went through the random hallways and crevasses in the ice floe. DG and Ine'che led the way, though neither of them really knew what to look for. They tried to follow the shifting patterns in the magic wards within the ice floe, but they couldn't always agree on what the wards meant. The patterns in the magic threads didn't have any discernible language to them. DG almost wished she had kept the ghost fairy instead of telling it to keep a close watch on her mother.

DG didn't know how long they wandered through the chilled hallways. It was creepy, like walking through a horror movie, and she knew full well what happened to heroines in those movies if they weren't paying attention well enough. The feeling wrapped tighter and tighter around her, like a shawl placed around her shoulders in winter.

At its tightest point, DG placed a hand against the wall. "This really doesn't feel good."

Ine'che and Cain stopped, concerned. "Dorothy..." Ine'che began, reaching out for DG.

"I just need to make this go away," she began. Her palm glowed bright white against the ice floe, and the other at her chest glowed as well.

"I don't think this is a good idea..."

DG ignored Cain and Ine'che. "It'll only take me a moment. I'll be ready to wander around in a second," she assured them.

The wall melted away to reveal a cavern. They all turned to look into the dim cavern, and DG extended her glowing palm to extend light into it. She could see a dim shape in the center of the cavern, looking almost like—

Cain dragged her back just as a sheet of ice would have encased her entire form. "Deeg!"

The dim shape slid forward, a hunched over form swathed in white with straggly white hair over the face and back. Ice crystals were tangled up in the hair, and tiny icicles hung down from the form. "You must be one of the Queen's lovely daughters," she said, voice crackling as if it had gone unused for much too long. She reached out toward DG, the air visibly growing chill around her arm. "Are you the one of light or the one drawn to darkness?"

DG nearly danced out of her reach. Something in them seemed to naturally want to avoid her touch. "You're Cliara."

"The very same," she said, her voice sounding like ice grating against ice. She reached out again, head tilting up slightly as DG crashed into Cain and Ine'che. Midnight screeched, the sound echoing around them, and climbed up on top on DG's head in panic.

"Midnight!" DG called out as she tried to regain her balance.

"Allow me," Cliara rasped. She caught hold of DG's arm and righted her, though Cain and Ine'che were still holding on. DG's arm felt so cold that it seemed to burn, and her mouth opened in an unvoiced scream.

And then the four of them were inside the cavern, staring out at Cliara on the other side of a rapidly forming sheet of ice.

Cain looked at the sheet of ice and then back at DG in shock. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" he asked in disbelief.

DG gave him an incredulous shove. "Not my fault, Wyatt." She felt the inside of the ice sheet as it solidified. She met Cliara's gaze through the ice sheet and was chilled at the sight of the empty smile the Ice Witch gave her. It didn't feel like ordinary ice, and she couldn't seem to find any pattern in the weaving to undo.

She'd woken the other witch of the OZ by accident, just as she had as a child. And just like she had done as a child, she had well and truly fucked up.

They were trapped.

***  
***


	29. The Ice Witch

Azkadellia jerked when she heard Midnight scream. "This can't be good," she said, looking at Della and Callan with a worried expression. She tried not to think about the mobats she had as the Sorceress, her own dark children. Her chest ached.

"I'll double back and check on them," Callan offered. "You go on ahead and find the witch. You need to talk to her before something bad happens."

Callan went down the hallway they had just gone down, intending to backtrack his way and follow the markings on the wall that Cain must have made to trace their way through the labyrinthine hallways. He didn't know this magic stuff, but figured Azkadellia could more than handle herself when she found the Ice Witch. She had some of Aliana, not to mention everyone else she had ever taken on while the Sorceress. It had been painfully evident that she absorbed entire souls, taking on memories and abilities and personalities. He could only hope that there wouldn't be any further surprises down the road.

***

"Somehow, I don't know if I should be surprised anymore at the messes you get into."

"What?" DG asked, whirling around to face Cain. "How was I supposed to know? I felt like crap! Like my insides were getting all twisted up and knotted and stuff. Why shouldn't I try to undo that if I could?" She turned back to the wall of ice in front of her and hit it with her fist. It certainly felt like normal, ordinary ice, but it didn't melt against her hands. "I didn't know she was going to lock us in here!"

Ine'che sighed and paced the length and width of the cell. It was a dome-shaped area carved into the ice approximately eleven feet in diameter. There were no amenities in the room. One area of the wall was faintly luminescent, but the room overall was dimly lit full of shadows. Magic likely kept Cliara from dying of thirst or hunger, and there was no obvious means to take care of bodily functions. Ine'che felt that perhaps it was like the magic at Wyvern Coil Keep; natural law simply no longer worked on the occupant. It was more than enough space for a single person to occupy, and Cliara had been trapped inside of it alone.

"You said that Aliana had creatures," Ine'che murmured, cutting off Cain's and DG's mounting argument. They were simply sniping at each other out of fear and nerves. She knew they didn't truly mean anything by their remarks. She had once been the same way with her own mate, and witnessing it in them made her miss him fiercely.

"Mobats and some other creepy things," DG replied. Midnight chittered at her almost indignantly, and she smoothed a hand down its back. "Not you, Midnight. You're a cute one. Hers were creepy and twisted and mean." She shrugged, and Midnight clambered down from her shoulder into her arms. DG turned away from the ice wall and faced Ine'che. "They were flying high around the cavern and then dove down at Az while I ran. I thought she'd fallen and was going to be eaten. Or killed."

"She survived by being possessed, you said," Ine'che murmured, looking around. "I wonder why Cliara didn't do that with you."

"What?"

"Aliana wanted out of her cell as well," Ine'che reasoned. "So she seized the opportunity she was presented with when you and your sister stumbled onto Fenaqua. Water prison, remember? That was her cell, and she was to remain locked there alone for all eternity. But she had creatures with her and possessed your sister to escape her prison. Why would Cliara be so different?"

"You think there's something to this?" Cain asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "They're different people. Why wouldn't they be different?"

"They were sisters, if not twins." Ine'che looked at DG. "You are all but a stranger to your sister now, but at one time you were truly sisters. Did you know her well then?"

"Of course I did. And she did something... She gave me back the life she stole, so I have all of those memories back, too. Not just vague ones, like before. But I mean, I remember everything like I just did it with her." She looked at Ine'che in confusion.

"Back then, you likely were similar in some ways, for all your differences."

"Well, sure. We liked the same games and things like that. But I was the explorer and she would rather keep me contained rather than get into trouble because of me." DG flushed suddenly. "I'm doing it to her again, aren't I?"

"I think so," Cain grumbled, but there was a slight curve to his lip to soften the words.

"So these sisters must have been the same way," Ine'che reasoned. "If one would have creatures, why wouldn't the other? The creatures would have helped to stave off the loneliness, kept up some semblance of companionship. Yet Cliara did not." Ine'che took another look around the empty expanse of the room. "Why wouldn't she? Why wouldn't she want someone with her? She was here alone for thousands of years in her exile."

"But she had the Breakers."

"Yes, but they weren't _here_ with her. She was _here_ alone. The Breakers were too external and impersonal. They were close sisters once, by all accounts I heard. They led the Unseelie Court together. They recruited from the different peoples together. Why would they spend their incarceration any differently?"

"Maybe she couldn't make any?" DG offered, shrugging again. "I mean, I don't know how to make critters or things."

"You learned to conjure from Ozma."

DG flushed a bit. "Well, yeah. Stuff, not things that are alive."

"Do you honestly think the procedure is any different?"

DG sighed. "Probably not."

"Why not try it?" Cain asked. "There has to be a reason why it didn't work for her here."

Frowning, DG concentrated and tried to focus on weaving together a mobat that looked like Midnight. While she didn't exactly know how his insides were arranged, the magic allowed for a lot of leeway. She didn't have to actually put every detail in place; most of the threads stitched themselves together accordingly. The mobat took shape and looked at Midnight curiously, its head cocked to the side. DG smiled, proud of her effort and grinned at the little creature.

Then, right before their eyes, it unraveled itself, the threads disappearing as if they had never existed.

"And there you have it," Cain murmured, looking at the space where the conjured mobat had been. "That's why."

Devastated, DG looked at Cain in horror. "It was alive. It saw us."

Cain didn't even know what to say in reply to the pain on DG's face. He didn't know how to comfort her. Ine'che simply looked at her helplessly.

"How do you think she must have felt, watching this happen?" she asked, clearly upset. "How many times do you think she might've done this before giving up?" She looked up at them. "How long before she just went crazy in here alone?"

"I don't know," Ine'che replied, voice soft. "I don't."

DG turned and kicked at the ice viciously with her foot. To her surprise, the ice wall looked scuffed. She knelt down beside it and scratched at the ice with her fingernails, and some of it came up. "Guys, I think I know why she never got out of here."

"What are you doing?" Cain asked, coming closer. He squatted down next to DG and tried to see what she was doing, but at his angle couldn't see the scuff marks.

"She was a practitioner of magic, right?" The others nodded. "Well, she never bothered to do anything physical, I bet. So it never occurred to her to do something other than magic to break through this wall."

Ine'che's eyes went wide. "Are you serious?"

"Like cancer," DG told her solemly. "Look at this."

When they moved to look at the wall from her angle, the scratches were clearly visible.

Ine'che motioned for the others to move aside as she began taking off her dress. "In that case, I'll be able to get us out of here very quickly."

***

Azkadellia looked at Della with a pained expression as she stopped abruptly in the hallway. "I don't know where she is. What if that cry was because she hurt Deeg? That mobat is attached to her." _The way my own children used to be,_ went unsaid.

Della grasped her hand and squeezed tightly in support. "It looked little. Anything might have startled it."

Still, they both knew that it had been fairly calm when it had seen the three of them the first time, and had almost seemed preternaturally aware of whatever was going on with DG.

"You'll find the Ice Witch," Della told Azkadellia firmly. "You'll talk to her, and you'll do what you need to do. This will all work out, I'm sure of it."

Her smile was strained and purely for his benefit. "You're sure of it."

"Absolutely. You know what you're doing, right?"

No, she didn't quite. She had an idea of what she might say to the Ice Witch, but whatever she knew of Cliara had been from Aliana's memories thousands of years ago. Aliana had changed over time, why wouldn't Cliara? But Azkadellia didn't want to be pessimistic at a time like this. That would be defeating the purpose before she'd even begun. "So we continue?"

"Continue. You're bound to know where the prison is once you see it."

They continued along the same pathway, Della carving symbols into the walls as he went. It was a fairly easy directional sign, one that the tin men academy had drilled into them for years. It was likely a pictograph descended from the original writing in the OZ, handed down amongst tin men and whatever they were called before they were called tin men. There had always been protectors and warriors in the OZ, whatever the name.

The hallway opened into a large cavern with a domed ceiling. The floor and walls had a faint luminescence, and there were columns of ice irregularly spaced throughout the cavern to support the ceiling. Azkadellia could feel her stomach tie itself into knots, and there was a strange presence in the center of her chest. The pressure inside of her was almost unbearable, almost like the discomfort she had felt at the Northern Outpost or back in Central City before she had met Della and Callan. It was the feeling of being unwanted and unloved, alone and miserable and unable to verbalize one iota of her pain.

Azkadellia turned and looked to the center of the cavern. "Cliara."

The Ice Witch seemed to materialize out of nowhere, her form bent and haggard. She was swathed in white that dripped icicles, and her straggly hair was hastily pushed back away from her face. Some icicles broke off from the strands as she did so. Her skin seemed to be frosted over with ice, and her eyes were the clear light blue of the sky when seen through a sheet of ice. Her entire body seemed to be wracked with pain and misery, the culmination of thousands of years of mental torture.

"You won't put me back," Cliara told them, her voice like the grating of ice. "I won't ever go back there."

_DG,_ Azkadellia thought helplessly. _DG must have found her first, and she wouldn't know how to explain._ Azkadellia stepped forward. "I'm not going to send you anywhere, Cliara," Azkadellia said, voice calm and sure. "But the Breakers need to stop. They're destroying the barriers between the worlds."

"So? Do you think this world matters to me?" Her voice, hoarse from disuse, rose in fury. "Do you think _you_ matter to me?"

"Cliara, I can help," Azkadellia told her calmly. The tightness within her was still there, and she felt like a coiled spring ready to be let loose. She tried to push that away, tried to tamp down on it. Della was behind her and Callan was down the hallways looking for DG. Actually, Callan was likely running back to her side because of this feeling within her skin. "I can make it better."

Della had edged his way out from behind Azkadellia, his gun in hand. He eyed Cliara warily, not trusting the Ice Witch. She was clearly unstable, clearly upset and not willing to listen to reason. While he trusted Azkadellia, he certainly didn't trust Cliara not to do something. Cliara was dangerous, and Della could recognize the wild look in her eyes. She felt like a caged animal, and anyone knew that caged animals would strike first in an attempt to escape.

Cliara's eyes flicked to Della, and she bared her broken teeth at them. "You don't know how to make it better," she hissed. It was like the sizzle of ice against heat. Her eyes flicked back to Azkadellia. "You're alone, Practitioner," Cliara hissed at Azkadellia. "You can't bind me, you won't bind me. I will never allow it, not ever again. You're alone, and you haven't the strength to combat me. You're an infant in our ways, you haven't the knowledge. I can see it in you, in the patterns around you." Her grimace was an agitated one, and her hands were hooked into claws, her ragged nails blackened and long. "You're alone, and you won't defeat me. I won't let you."

"I'm not going to bind you," Azkadellia promised, holding her hands out, palms up. It was a common sign of peaceful intentions. "I'm not going to do anything, Cliara."

But the Ice Witch's laughter was wild and crazed, her eyes glittering with rage. "Did _she_ put you up to this, child? Did _she_ make you think you could do this? That you could try and cage me? You, alone? It took her an entire army to defeat us and cage us, and she sends a child after me? Oh, no, you can't do this. You _won't_ do this!"

As Cliara raised her hooked hands, Della couldn't help it. He let out a wide shot as a warning. "Don't," he warned.

Cliara swung in Della's direction and sent a jagged, deadly-looking icicle in his direction, aimed to pin him to the wall.

Without thinking, Azkadellia shoved Della out of the way. He went careening headfirst into the ice wall and Azkadellia took the icicle spike in the gut. It pinned her to the far wall, and she felt her body collapse around it in shock. She looked down at herself, at the large jut of ice sticking out of her belly. No, it was going _through_ her belly, all the way through her, and into the wall behind her. She could see the blood around the wound, melting the ice a bit before it froze. Stunned, Azkadellia looked up at the Ice Witch with large eyes, her mouth falling open.

"And now, child, you'll see just how alone you really are," Cliara hissed, coming closer.

Azkadellia began to laugh, a hysterical edge to it. She was going to die, Della didn't look like he was moving and she couldn't feel Callan's presence in the back of her mind. This had to be shock. This had to be the certain knowledge that she was about to die and nothing she could do could stop that. She wasn't good at healing spells even if she could concentrate enough to do one now, even if Cliara would let her. The OZ would be destroyed if Cliara wouldn't call off her Breakers, and Azkadellia failed. But for some reason, that didn't bother her any longer. She failed, she was going to die, and everyone she ever cared about would die as well. She _tried,_ which was more than she was willing to do even a month ago, and she still had some time left before she died. Maybe she could still convince Cliara to stop.

"Why are you laughing, little girl?" Cliara rasped. "You're going to die."

"I know," she said, looking up at Cliara helplessly. She touched the jagged piece of ice, feeling it cut her palms. It was so cold it burned her skin. "I know. But I'm not alone. You keep saying that, but you're wrong. I'm not alone anymore. I thought I was, and maybe I made myself that way for the past few months after Aliana was taken from me, but I'm not alone, not really."

Just mentioning Aliana's name made Cliara freeze. "What did you say?" she gasped. "Aliana was taken from you?"

Azkadellia laughed at Cliara's confusion. "You never let me explain. I wanted to tell you. I wasn't coming to lock you in again. I wanted your help." Now her laughter was definitely hysterical. "And I'm _not_ alone. You're wrong about that. I have Paul and Benji and DG. They'd miss me when I die. I'm _loved,_ Cliara," Azkadellia said fiercely, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm loved, and I'm never alone because of that. I didn't understand that. Aliana possessed me and took over my body and said that was why I would never be alone. But I know it now, that's not why. I was still alone, even with her, because nobody loved me."

Something in Cliara's face shifted. "Aliana is still alive?"

"Something's left," Azkadellia told her helplessly. "It's worked into me now, part of me. So you see? I can't ever be as alone or helpless as you say."

Cliara reached out toward Azkadellia, an uncomprehending look on her face. Her palms glowed with a light like a falling star. "You give her back to me!" she screeched. "Give her back _now!"_

Della had been stunned, and clawed his way back to consciousness at the sound of Azkadellia's soft voice and hysterical laughter. It couldn't be good. She didn't get hysterical. She got quiet and methodical, not hysterical. He opened his eyes and saw Cliara reaching for Azkadellia, shrieking and looking almost angry. And Azkadellia, his beautiful Azkadellia, had taken the ice javelin meant for him and was pinned to the wall, pale as a ghost and likely had internal bleeding. Without even thinking about it, he scooped up his gun and shot at Cliara, catching her high in the torso. It was just above her heart, almost at her shoulder, and spun her around. The bullet went right through her, and embedded in the wall only two feet from Azkadellia's head.

Cliara gave an inhuman shriek and rushed forward, toward Della, hands outstretached as she began to chant something incomprehensible.

Callan, whose approach from the side had been masked by the screaming, sliced off both of her hands with his sword.

Cliara shrieked, this time in pain and shock and horror. Her hands were _gone._ There were bloody stumps at the end of her arms, there were her hands on the floor and there was blood everywhere. She spun around to face Azkadellia, still screaming incoherently.

Callan raised his sword again, poised to strike, but Azkadellia held a hand up to stop him. "Benji, don't. She's a Practitioner. She needs her hands."

He blinked in surprise and lowered it with a nod. He went to help Della up to his feet, not sure what he could do. He hadn't meant to do irrevocable harm that way. He hadn't been thinking. She looked like she was going to cast something to skewer Della as well.

Azkadellia reached out for Cliara, a smile pasted onto her pale face. "Cliara, come here. It's going to be okay."

"Hands! My hands!" she wailed, her face transformed into one of childlike terror.

"I know. Come here. It's all right. We'll die together if you like." Azkadellia grasped Cliara's arm, covered in a sheet of ice. "But if I have my guess correct, my sister will come. DG is better at healing spells than I am."

"She's locked away. I locked her away," Cliara sobbed. "I thought she was going to lock me up."

Azkadellia looked at Cliara almost mournfully. "So we're going to die, then."

"I thought you were going to lock me up. And he took my hands. I can't ever go back now. I can't ever fix things."

Azkadellia let her hands close over Cliara's arms. She pushed a warning at Callan and Della so that they didn't come too close and spook her. "If we're careful, I think I know of a way you can get to see Aliana again."

Cliara stopped weeping abruptly. "What?"

Licking her lips almost nervously, Azkadellia gave Cliara a helpless smile. "She taught me how to unweave people, and I know how to weave them into me."

"You said she was gone."

"Others separated us, but it wasn't cleanly. Some of her is still left inside my head. You can have that part of her." Azkadellia coughed, her chest burning. She wasn't sure how much time she had left herself, but DG was bound to come soon and fix her. Right?

"I need to get back home," Cliara told her, voice lost like a child. "Ali can't be lost. She knew how to travel back and forth. She knew the way."

"Aliana was older, then?" Azkadellia asked, pulling Cliara closer. The Ice Witch shook her head woefully. "Let me do this. Deeg mentioned that she had to take care of Lurlaine, and she looked angry about something."

Cliara looked fiercely at Azkadellia. "Blood is nothing to her, only power. She's done the most horrible things, incited war to feed her lust for power. It isn't right!"

"Definitely something DG would want to stop, then," Azkadellia told her with a smile. "I wasn't much better when Aliana possessed me," she said, feeling dizzy. "But maybe with the two of you, we can figure out how to stop her. Maybe we'll be strong enough, the three of us together with DG, to make it end."

Cliara nodded slowly, eyes wet with tears. "I'm sorry I did this."

"So am I," Azkadellia murmured. She grasped Cliara's face in her hands. "Let go. You'll see Aliana very soon."

Azkadellia opened her mouth and Cliara did the same. She closed her eyes as the anchors of her soul were pulled away and the edges of her consciousness were gathered up. She couldn't feel her body anymore, couldn't feel the pain in her absent hands or the pain of knowing she had let her misery destroy the chance she had of returning home whole.

But if even a piece of her returned, that would be all right. If even a piece of Aliana remained with her to return, that was all right. They could live in the shadows between worlds, between dreams. They had been turned into nothing more than myth for so long, living that way for real wasn't so much of a hardship.

Azkadellia wove Cliara into herself as she drew her in, settling her in beside her sister.

_I didn't want to do this. I didn't want it to end this way,_ she thought, feeling Cliara's body slip from her hands to land on the floor beside her. Not that it mattered; if DG didn't arrive to heal her in time, she was going to die of internal bleeding from her wound.

She cried out when Della pulled the ice javelin out and Callan laid her out on the floor. She let her eyes fall closed. She could hear running and assumed it to be DG. Maybe DG would arrive in time, and they could go on a grand adventure and relearn how to be sisters. Maybe Azkadellia could learn to forgive herself everything she'd ever done or not done. She knew Della and Callan well enough that they wouldn't love someone unworthy. Some part of her was worth loving, and that part of her had to survive somehow.

It sounded as though DG crashed to the floor beside her, sobbing. It seemed as though her hands were pressed over the gaping wound, blood pooling all around Azkadellia.

It seemed so, but Azkadellia was already slipping out of consciousness.

***  
***


	30. Epilogue

Most of the populace had never even known that their lives had been in danger. There were so few Practitioners of the old ways and truly skilled Practitioners with enough awareness to have known that the Breakers even existed. Once the Ice Witch was killed, however, they ceased to be. There was no longer any function for them; the Ice Witch was released from her prison, so the spells crafting their function fell apart without her to continue them. Not alive in the first place, they just ceased to exist.

DG stood at the same balcony she had once hopped over in order to escape the OZ. While it was really only two months ago, it felt like an entire lifetime. She wasn't the same DG that had fled responsibility and pressure. Now she knew what had to be done and was willing to do it. Perhaps she had to learn how to be a bit more politic about it, but she had things to do. God help the idiot noble that tried to stand in her way.

After returning to Central City from the Northern Ice Floe, DG had requested changes right away. The Queen had already named her Crown Princess, of course, and immediately called a meeting with DG. DG had asked to stay with Azkadellia, who had hovered between life and death for a dangerously long time after their return. Azkadellia's quarters looked more like a hospital bed, her pale face nearly matching the white sheets on the bed. She hadn't stirred, hadn't responded to anyone's presence. The court physicians hadn't been able to explain it; once they dealt with the blood loss and the physical trauma that DG had repaired to the best of her ability, they had been sure she would wake up. Instead, Azkadellia continued to look like a breathing corpse. DG had come dangerously close to breaking the court physician's jaw, but Cain had stopped her in time.

The Queen saw DG in her private chambers, no Advisors in attendance. "You wanted to see me?"

"DG," the Queen began with a sad smile. "So much has happened to you. And to Azkadellia."

"Yeah. We're not allowed to talk about it," she replied bluntly.

The Queen flinched, but didn't contradict her. "I can't right now," she simply said. "Please, we need to talk."

"Half of what I want to say, I'm not allowed to," DG told her mother sullenly, coming into the room with her arms crossed beneath her breasts. She could make out the dim shadow of her ghost fairy still hovering behind her mother, and she had left Midnight with Azkadellia. DG sat in front of her mother, a low coffee table between them with a vase full of flowers on them. DG was getting sick of flowers and pleasantries and everyone pretending that nothing untoward had ever happened in the OZ.

"The other half, then," her mother said, unperturbed.

"Well, there's court responsibilities and the war with Faery that I'd like to start," DG told her mother brightly. She took no pleasure in her mother's pained indrawn hiss of breath. "Where would you like to start?"

"The court responsibilities," the Queen replied, seizing on the easier of the two topics DG mentioned. She couldn't stomach the idea of another war, though the Sorceress' reign had been more of a covert war fought with snide remarks, terror and intimidation. This one would be a full on interdimensional war with the very real possibility that her children might never come back. Azkadellia had barely survived her interaction with the Ice Witch, and the court physician wasn't hopeful that she would wake up at this point. _Royalty are different,_ he had said, apologetic. He had really meant that he didn't know what to do with her, didn't know if her magic would ever regenerate or if her magic was the reason why she was comatose.

DG nodded. She had thought her mother would start there. "I know there are the meetings about OZ policy and law, as well as overseeing the High Courts," DG said. "Then there's whatever noble gatherings and charity functions."

The Queen blinked in surprise. She hadn't thought DG had been paying attention. "Yes. I had thought to start easing you into these responsibilities. You would still defer to me in absolute decisions, but this would be the chance to practice. When you're ready, you'll be well prepared to care for the people."

DG didn't want to remind her mother that she had _lived_ like an ordinary person for most of her life. She knew what worried them. She knew what they wanted. It was the same thing she had seen her android parents worried about: having a job, paying the bills, getting food on the table, raising a good child, if the schools were good enough, how to keep from feeling so exhausted and useless and petty at the end of the day. Still, the Queen hated any reminders of the lengths she had taken to keep DG safe. It was also a reminder of the Sorceress, of the taunting the Queen had endured for fifteen annuals as the Sorceress with Azkadellia's face had made her feel lower than dirt, dashing any hopes she might have ever had.

Folding her hands demurely in the lap of the dress she had worn for the occasion, DG smiled at her mother. "I'd like to start with the courts and law, please. I don't think I'm ready for the nobility around here."

"Nonsense, you're more than ready for that."

"Not if I can barely keep from insulting them for being stupid or wanting to punch them in the face," DG retorted. "If you want the good name of the Gale family to remain intact, I think we should hold off on my becoming the public face of the family."

The Queen had to give her that point. DG didn't enjoy or have the patience to learn the unwritten rules of court decorum. She was too blunt and direct for that, and didn't care enough to try to modulate her style. The Queen had known that, of course, but had hoped that most of that brashness had fallen away with her month away from the OZ. "All right. But you will need to do those things."

"Well, I have a request," DG had replied instead of agreeing right away. "I need Advisors, like you have."

"You would have access to mine, of course," the Queen replied, confused.

"I was thinking of formally making Ine'che one of my Advisors," DG answered. "And when she wakes up, Azkadellia."

_When_ and not _if._ DG was ever the optimist.

The Queen sighed. "It's highly irregular to place foreigners and... others... so high."

DG knew that the populace still saw Azkadellia as a traitor, or felt that she was complicit in the possession. Only time could ease the hurt from their hearts and let them see who Azkadellia really was.

"I still need further training in magic, and they're the most qualified," DG said, using her well-thought out reasoning. She was going to do this logically. Her mother obviously didn't want to hear _But they're my friends!_ as an argument. This wasn't so different than battle strategy, she supposed.

"Ah... So it's more of an instructor's capacity?"

"For now," DG chirped brightly. "It might change with time. You know Ine'che is thousands of years old. She knows a lot, so I'm sure she has a lot of advice to give me. It's good to have that kind of perspective."

The Queen eyed DG almost warily. DG was being too compliant and too thoughtful. While she liked knowing the change was there, she didn't entirely trust it. "I see." She nodded slowly, not able to find anything to fault the logic.

"And really, that leads me to my next request," DG said, her tone cheery and bright. She didn't want to say how important this was to her. "I really think that we should retain the tin men that were with us on this journey. They're the only ones that understand the seriousness of what happened, and would be ideal as generals for the war with Faery."

The Queen flinched at the mention of war. She really didn't want to have to contemplate that. "About that war..."

"After all, the progenitor of the Gale line was helped by Ozma," DG continued, fingering her skirt idly. "She gave all of her magic to Dorothy, never thinking it would return again. And she helped to teach me a bit while I was there. It really isn't fair to leave her being abused by Lurlaine."

"I really don't think-"

"And honestly, I wouldn't trust anyone else to be on my guard detail or on Azkadellia's," DG continued as if her mother hadn't interrupted.

The Queen to see that DG was intent on this. "Why are you so intent on your tin man?"

With a sigh, DG had finally opted to be honest. "I love him." She shrugged helplessly at her mother. "And I know Az cares a lot for hers."

Rubbing her temples, the Queen could only nod. She had thought this might be the case. "I'll have to think on this."

DG took it as a dismissal and stood. "I'm going to be doing this war with or without your consent," she said apologetically. "I can't leave Ozma there like that. If you knew even a little bit about it, you'd agree with me."

That had been almost a month ago. The Queen had denied any further audience requests, and the palace was large enough for her to hide from DG if she really wanted to. DG had spent time with Azkadellia, talking to her and letting Midnight chitter away at her. The tin men hadn't yet been removed from the palace, which was heartening. Della and Callan took their turns watching over Azkadellia, not trusting any of the palace staff to do it properly. DG didn't blame them, either. She wasn't sure she would trust any of them with an alert Azkadellia, let alone a comatose one.

DG tended to sneak into Cain's quarters late at night. She quickly learned her way around the palace's back hallways and the servants' wing, where Cain's room was located. Della and Callan had one there as well, but never used it. They simply slept in shifts in Azkadellia's sitting room or on the bed with her, curled around her still form. DG didn't always sneak into Cain's quarters with the intent to have sex. Sometimes she simply slept next to him, his heart beneath her ear, to assure herself that he was still there. She grew used to the feeling of his arms around her, and he was too damned disciplined to try to sneak into her quarters at night. So she took to exploring the corridors of the palace and sneaking into his rooms as if she was a teenager sneaking out of the house in Kansas. Same skill set, really, and she had become good at it.

Today she was standing on the balcony, however. She looked out over the view of Central City from the balcony railing. This was her city, her people. This was her destiny, that vague thing she had been looking for in Kansas. Today, it didn't feel so overwhelming or impossible.

She turned at the sound of heels clicking on the marble floor behind her. "I thought I said I wanted a moment alone," she began, thinking it was one of those useless palace guards trying to tell her to be more careful about sneaking off.

Wyatt Cain stood there, dressed in full regalia of a high ranking general. The uniform was crisp, with the appropriate insignia and nametag that any other general in the OZ Republic army would wear. "Hello, DG."

She gaped at him. "Wyatt?" He hadn't breathed a word of it, not once in the entire past month.

"It's official now. Della and Callan, too, actually. And we have titles, if you can believe it. Not high ranking ones, but we're barons now."

DG laughed, bringing her hands up to her mouth. "Really? So I can just invite you up whenever I like?"

Cain flushed and looked slightly uncomfortable. "Your mother knows about that. She doesn't exactly approve."

"And I don't exactly care," DG declared, launching herself at Cain. "So, Baron Cain. Has a ring to it."

"And property, apparently. That's going to go to Jeb, though."

DG laughed at how uncomfortable he looked. "Well, of course. It's not like we need it. You're going to live here in the palace with me, and there's plenty of room for all of the children we're going to have."

"We are, then?" he asked, looping his arms around her comfortably.

"Of course. I grew up as an only child in Kansas. And it was fun having a sister when I was really little. So we have to have a bunch of them, so they won't ever get lonely and can have someone to play with. And when Az wakes up, she'll give our kids tons of cousins to play with. After all, she has twice the opportunity to get knocked up," DG added playfully.

Cain winced. "You have to pick all these things to say that are embarassing, don't you?"

"Sure. Why not? Isn't it half the fun of being royalty to be inappropriate and having others all embarassed when I'm not?" DG leaned up and kissed him full on the mouth. "You know, you're hot in that uniform. I'm going to have so much fun taking it off of you."

He cleared his throat and looked around. He didn't see anyone. "The actual titling ceremony is tonight. I'm not needed anywhere until then."

DG grinned and laughed as he dragged her from the balcony. At some point, she was going to have to convince him that he needed to help her christen every room in the palace. It was a daunting task, of course, and definitely a challenge.

It was going to be fun.

***  
***  
The End.


End file.
